Seer of Destiny, Spinner of Dreams
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: Born a Seer, Belle's Visions make her an outcast and feared in her village. Born lame and the bastard son of the village coward, Rumple is also taunted and mocked. But he possesses the uncanny ability to spin any material, even straw. Can these two childhood friends spin their own fate and weave a destiny other than pariahs and discover a love that shall endure despite everything?
1. A Gift Beyond Price

**Seer of Destiny, Spinner of Dreams**

**Born a Seer, Belle's Visions make her an outcast and feared in her village. Born lame and the bastard son of the village coward, Rumple is also taunted and mocked. But he possesses the uncanny ability to spin any material, even straw. Can these two childhood friends spin their own fate and weave a destiny other than pariahs and discover a love that shall endure despite everything? Rumbelle AU!**

**1**

**A Gift Beyond Price**

_Hearthstone village_

_The Enchanted Forest:_

Maurice Avignon, eccentric mathematician and inventor of several ingenious devices to count money and sheaves of wheat and move large loads with the aids of levers and fulcrums, huddled miserably in a chair and listened to the groans and cries of his beloved wife, Elena, as she struggled to bear their first child. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with flyaway brown hair and a look of perpetual curiosity upon his round face. He almost always had some kind of oil stain or food stain upon his tunic, as he forgot to use an apron when he worked in his shop or ate his lunch, he was too busy calculating angles and parameters and other things.

His wife, gentle Elena, six years his junior, who was once handmaid to the noble Jeanette of the House of Moreaux, had been in labor for almost sixteen hours now and he feared something was gravely wrong. He had paced up and down their well-appointed cottage, nearly wearing a hole in the floorboards from his anxiety. He had called their neighbor, Barbara, to come and help Elena when her pains had come upon her, and the cheery woman who was the village baker and had six sons and daughters, had happily come to assist, assuring Maurice that the baby would arrive in no time.

But that had not been the case and now he feared something was dreadfully wrong.

Sure enough, Barbara came through the bedroom door a moment later, wiping her hands on a cloth and looking grave, her dark hair tucked up beneath her linen cap. The baker was sweating profusely, and said, "Maurice, I believe the babe is turned the wrong way, and I cannot help her . . . I don't know how to turn it around, and if I don't . . .you could lose them both!"

"No!" he howled, fear and grief etching lines in his face. "That cannot be! There must be a way to save them!"

"Your only hope may be the wise women spinsters—Lauren, Aimee, and Claudette, who live on the edge of the village. They're known for their herbal remedies and their fine thread. And some say . . they are sorceresses as well," she whispered that last for in this part of the kingdom, those who practiced magic were feared and regarded with disdain. But the sisters were well respected as spinners and herbalists, and ran a shop selling their thread and simples.

"I shall go to them. Perhaps they may know of a way to save my wife and child!" Maurice said, and he grabbed his cloak and hurried out the door.

As he passed the village blacksmith, whose pounding on his anvil echoed in the chill evening air, the blacksmith's son, five-year-old Gaston, a sturdy lad with black hair and a cunning smile, raced around a corner of the forge, waving his toy bow and arrow. "Look! It's crazy old Maurice!" he shrilled, aiming his toy arrow at the inventor's backside.

Maurice spun before the little hickory shaft could hit its target and snapped, "Mind where you shoot that, young one, before I tan your hide for your insolence!"

Gaston backed away, still clutching his bow. "You'd not dare! My papa would pound you into the ground!"

"Then tell him to teach you respect for your elders!" the inventor snorted, and hurried on his way. He couldn't take the time now to teach the brat any manners, he had to get to the spinsters.

Soon he reached the small shop and cottage where they lived. It was a pretty little place with larkspur and meadowsweet around the dooryard and the shop bore a simple illustrated sign of a mortar and pestle and an herb bundle and some thread, since most of the villagers couldn't read, though Maurice could and so could Elena, and it was rumored the sisters could also. It was said they had once been prosperous merchant's daughters whose father had lost everything in a hand of cards and so they had moved here to Hearthstone, leaving behind all they had known in the city of Broceliande, where the King Leopold's palace was. That also included their suitors, who abandoned them now that their fortunes had been reversed, and so the three had never married, preferring to remain alone rather than cater to the whims of fickle men.

The thatch gleamed like spun gold in the light of the setting sun, and he came to the painted blue door and knocked upon it, noting the walls needed a new coat of whitewash.

Inside he heard the fretful wail of a baby, and it was then he recalled that the spinsters had taken in Julietta Marchand's baby when she had died giving birth to him a fortnight past. She had named the boy's father as Malcolm Kerr, though Malcolm was denying the boy was his, as they had ot been married and it was said Malcolm would have had to be in his cups to sleep with poor shy Julietta, whose only redeeming quality was her face and her weaving. "Mouse" was her nickname among the villagers and it had been a great scandal when it was discovered she was with child. Only seventeen, her papa had thrown her out, calling her a tart and a whore, though she swore the father of her babe had said he would marry her and then had slept with her to seal his pledge. Julietta had gone to live with the spinsters, for they alone bore her no censure and indeed felt sorry for her.

But now she was passed on, in the Blessed Realms, and only her babe was left. Julietta, whose head had been filled with dreams and tales, had named her son after a famous spinner in a folk tale who could spin straw into gold. His name—Rumplestiltskin.

Baby Rumple wailed louder as Maurice pounded upon the door, calling, "For the love of mercy and the goddess Artemesia, open the door! It is I, Maurice!"

The door was opened and a small woman with brown hair and a pleasant face dressed in a green dress and blue apron peered out. "Maurice! What brings you here this eve?" It was Claudette, the youngest sister.

"Please, I beg you to help me! Elena's time is nigh and she . . .is having difficulty . . ." he told her what Barbara had said. "Please . . .if there is anything you can do . . ."

"I shall get my bag," Claudette said. She was the one who had trained with old Lenore, the midwife some years back.

As she disappeared inside the cottage, Maurice heard the baby's cries ebb as a soft voice crooned, "Shh, little Rumple, now drink some warmed milk. Sally gave it special for you, dearie! She's a good little goat, gives us milk and cheese and hair to spin . . ."

He peered into the cottage and saw a tall woman with reddish hair holding a wee baby in her arms and feeding him a bottle as she walked up and down by the hearth. This was Lauren, the eldest of the sisters, wearing a brown wool dress and yellow apron stained with herbal tinctures.

The smell of applewood logs and the astringent scent of herbs and wool greeted his nostrils.

Soon Claudette came back with her black bag of simples and potions and together they hurried back to Maurice's house.

Half an hour later, the lusty wail of a newborn filled his cottage, and Maurice stood by the bed of his exhausted but proud wife and held her hand, tears of joy and relief in his eyes. Claudette had given Elena an herbal concoction to ease her labor and had managed to turn the babe around properly using techniques she'd learned on goats and ewes during lambing time.

Now she carefully washed off the infant, a healthy little girl with a fuzz of dark auburn hair and alert blue eyes that seemed to track upon her already, though the baby was only minutes old. "What do your eyes see, little one?" chuckled Claudette. "Hmm, dearie?" The baby had been born with a caul over her head, and such was often a sign of those with the Gift of Foreknowing.

Once she had washed off the baby, she brought the child over to her mother and father and said, "A healthy baby girl for you, Mistress Elena and Master Maurice." She handed the child to her father, since a father's acknowledgement of a child made it legitimate.

Maurice took the baby in his arms, rocking her lovingly. "A beautiful little girl, Elena! I think we should call her—Belle Avignon, for she is a little beauty!"

"Yes. Belle is a fine name," agreed Elena. She smiled lovingly at her daughter, and Maurice placed her in his wife's arms.

Elena kissed her little head and murmured, "Tis a miracle I was able to bear her."

"Yes. I almost lost you and her," Maurice agreed. He looked at Claudette. "You have given me a gift beyond price, Mistress. And now I owe you a debt I can never repay."

Baby Belle cooed and reached out a hand to grab her mama's hair, and Elena laughed. "Sweet child, how about this instead?" and she gave the baby the platinum chain of her locket, which Maurice had bought her long ago when he was courting her.

Claudette smiled. "All that I ask, Maurice, is that you remember that your daughter is special—she was born with a caul over her face and such indicates that she shall have the Sight. And that gift can be both a blessing and a curse."

The new parents gasped. "Are you sure?" Elena asked.

Claudette nodded. "Yes. If she doesn't develop the Gift as a child she shall when she reaches womanhood. Send her to me and I shall guide her in it. I am, after all, a wise woman."

"All right, we shall," agreed Maurice. He would have agreed to betroth Belle to a monster in order to repay the spinster for her deeds tonight.

"Good. For when all others mock her for being odd and different, she shall always have refuge with me and my sisters, as well as in her own home." Claudette smiled. "Now, rest and enjoy your new daughter. Good evening to you all."

Then she slipped out of the cottage, leaving the new parents to exclaim and hug their new arrival, and returned to her cottage, where she found Lauren spinning and rocking the cradle with a sleeping baby Rumple with her foot, while Aimee hummed an old song while kneading dough sprinkled with rosemary for tomorrow's bread, her round face with its curly brown hair speckled with flour.

"How did it go?" she asked her sister.

"I saved both the babe and the mother . . .though the child shall find a hard lot in life as she too is a Seer like I am . . .and you know well the price a Seer pays for her foreknowing," Claudette sighed.

Aimee nodded. "I know, Claude. Poor baby!"

The Foreknowing was a gift, but not everyone saw it that way, especially when your predictions were not what someone was expecting.

"But I have offered her refuge here, and have volunteered to train her when she is old enough," Claudette said.

"She can be a friend for Rumple, for he too shall find it difficult to make friends," murmured Lauren. "Not only does he have a twisted foot, but he's a bastard too."

Aimee clucked her tongue. "Poor little scrap! People are silly and stupid! 'Tis not his fault he was born lame or a bastard."

"Aye, dearie, but people believe what they want to believe and don't use the brains they were born with," snorted Lauren. "And they teach their children the same."

"I suppose we're lucky that with our knowledge and such they did not label us witches and run us out of town!" Aimee said.

"They'd not have dared," said Claudette. "They need us too much, even if they do think we're terribly odd." She hung her cloak on a peg beside the door and removed her shoes.

Then she came and poured herself a cup of tea and sipped it slowly while she sat next to Lauren and read a book on herbal preparations she had bought off of a traveling peddler.

The soothing whirring of the wheel as Lauren spun and the yeasty smell of bread dough filled the cottage, and in his cradle beneath a pretty woven blue striped blanket, wee Rumple slept, peacefully sucking on his thumb, unaware that destiny had stepped in and spun a new fate whose thread would one day entwine with his own.


	2. Baby Mine

**2**

**Baby Mine**

_Almost a year later:_

Under the sisters nurturing care, little Rumple thrived, despite his lame leg, and was soon scooting around the cottage. Though he hadn't mastered walking yet, he was a champion crawler, and his small size made him fast as a water bug. The child was also very intelligent, and could speak clearly before his first birthday, though his endless insatiable curiosity often got him into mischief.

Such as the time he crawled over to Lauren's workbasket, which she had foolishly forgotten to put up out of reach of little hands, and proceeded to pull out all the balls of yarn and the knitting needles, ending up tangling himself in three different shades of yarn and banging the needles on the floor.

The noise had brought Aimee in from the kitchen, where she had been chopping herbs for a tisane for old Martha Crowe. "What in—oh, Rumple!" she gasped upon seeing her charge looking like a living skein of yarn.

The little boy grinned up at her, his brown eyes alight with mischief. "Mama, look! I playing!"

Aimee bit back a smile, for her heart warmed whenever the little scamp called her that. Aimee was the one who was most often home with Rumple, as her other two sisters often went out among the villagers or worked in the shop most days. So Rumple had become the closest to her, and though he loved all three sisters, he only called Aimee "Mama". The others were "Aunt Lauren" and "Aunt Claude".

She cleared her throat and said in a mildly stern tone, "Rumplestiltskin, are you supposed to be touching that?"

The little boy's mouth turned down in a adorable pout and his expressiv_e _eyes filled with tears. "Mama mad?" The needles clattered to the floor.

Aimee sighed, for she could never remain angry with the little boy for long. "You little imp! I should be, but . . .Aunt Lauren should have been more careful." She gently took the needles away. "No touching, Rumple! You could put your eye out!"

Rumple tried to put a hand over his eye. "Ouch!"

"Yes, you could hurt yourself badly," Aimee told him, then she went to get a scissor from her own basket on the shelf to cut the little imp free of the yarn.

Once the boy was free, Aimee picked him up, and balanced him easily on her hip while she got a broom and swept up all the yarn pieces and used a tiny bit of her charm magic to get the yarn rewound and put back in the basket. Then she put the basket up on the shelf where Rumple couldn't reach it.

She was about to put the child in the corner briefly when she recalled her bread was due to come out of the oven and so she set him on the little sofa and said, "Stay here, Rumple. No moving till I come back!"

The child began to cry quietly, as he was not a very noisy child, and thinking he was in trouble and Aimee was mad at him.

Aimee had just removed the bread from the oven when a knock came at the cottage door. "Just a minute! I'll be right there!" She had many loaves to put on the wooden board on the counter, as she sold her rosemary bread in the shop to customers.

Before she could even get to the door, it opened and a young man with a roguish smile, brown hair, and a pencil thin mustache walked in. His eyes swept the cottage avariciously, then alighted on the boy on the couch. "Well, well! So my little bastard has grown!" he sneered, and walked over to Rumple. "Hello, laddie!"

Rumple shrank from this stranger, who loomed over him, and who smelled funny. He'd never been around a man who smelled of alcohol and pipe smoke before, or indeed many men at all. He held his nose and said, "Peeyew! Stinky!" while trying to scoot backwards on the sofa away from him.

Malcolm's eyes widened. "Why you little brat! Are you saying I smell?"

Rumple nodded, having been taught to always speak the truth.

"Little lame bastard!" Malcolm growled. "C'mere! You and I are gonna take a little trip . . .to the market in Watchman's Rest . . .where there's a man who likes little boys . . .and he'll pay a pretty penny for you!"

He bent to pick up Rumple in his arms.

Terrified, Rumple started screaming.

Aimee raced out of the kitchen, she had assumed it was a client who would wait while she pulled all the loaves from the oven. "What are you doing? Get away from my baby!" she yelled, and snatched up the rug beater in the corner.

Malcolm turned. "He's not yours! He's mine!"

Aimee gasped when she saw who it was. "Yours indeed! You may have sired him, but you never cared spit for him afterwards! Got poor Julia in the family way and went merrily on yours, you tomcat! And _now_ you want to take Rumple away? Not on your life, you miserable bounder!"

"He's mine!"

"Wrong! He's _never_ been yours! I don't know what your game is, you shyster, but you're taking Rumple over my dead body!" Aimee shouted, and she swung the paddle at Malcolm and slammed him a good one right in the backside.

"Owww!" he yelled, clutching it. "Leave off, woman!"

"Get out, you scoundrel! OUT!" she bellowed, and swung the rug beater again, hitting him in an even more tender area.

Malcolm screeched like a girl.

Rumple exploded into giggles. Then he clapped his hands. "Mama beat the bad man!"

Malcolm turned and raced out of the cottage, hunched over, as Aimee chased him down the walk, swinging the paddle for all she was worth.

"Take that! And that! And that!"

People stared at the diminutive woman attacking a man twice her size with the paddle and sending him fleeing down the street. Then they started pointing and laughing.

"Run Kerr!" they hooted. "Afore she beats your brains in!"

Malcolm was trying to get away for all he was worth. "Crazy witch!"

"Get out!" Aimee yelled. "And don't come back!"

Several of the villagers, who knew of Malcolm's reputation as a swindler, cheat, and ne'er do well, clapped as the woman went back into her house.

Aimee ran over to Rumple, who was still on the sofa, and she scooped him into her arms and hugged him tightly, her hands carding his floofy silky brown hair. "Oh, Rumple! He won't hurt you, not ever again! I promise! Never!" She cuddled the boy close, loving his sweet milky smell, his cheek pressed against hers. This would be the only child she would ever have, and she loved him with all the fierce devotion of a true mother, even though she had not bore him.

Rumple wound his arms around her neck, he always loved how she smelled—like yeast and honey and rosemary. "I love Mama!" he said, and kissed her cheek.

Aimee smiled and kissed him back. "I love my Rumple."

"How much?" he laughed.

"All the way to the moon!" she said and held him above her head. Then she lowered him back down. "And back."

He held out his arms wide, laughing sweetly. "This much?"

"More!" she grinned. "I love you more than anything in the whole world!"

And she would protect him till her last breath. From anyone and anything that would threaten him.

Because of Malcolm's unexpected visit, Aimee decided she needed to make Rumple a protection charm. Charms were her specialty, like Claudette's was Foreseeing and Lauren's was enchantment and green growing things. All the sisters could spin and weave like masters, their talents in that area known far and wide. Less so were their talents in the magical arts, since most magic workers were distrusted in this part of the kingdom.

So Aimee took several scraps of soft leather and wove them together into a bracelet and in the middle she put a bronze R and using her magic, charmed the bracelet to protect Rumple against any that might do him harm. That night she put it on the little boy, and from then on it never left his wrist.

Lauren also wove a spell around the cottage, shop, and garden to prevent Malcolm from ever coming inside or near Rumple while he was home. None of the sisters ever wanted that bounder near their son again.

"Or else he'll get my broom broken over his head!" Claudette vowed as she knitted some socks for Rumple.

"Will he keep his distance then?" asked Lauren as she spun some green thread.

"For now, he will, dearie," Claudette answered. But whether or not he'd return, her Sight did not show.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Over at the Avignon house, Belle proved as much a handful as her slightly older counterpart. The little girl proved to be an adorable cherub with huge blue eyes the color of sapphires at midnight and ringlets of auburn hair. She had chubby cheeks and a gamin grin that made her parents laugh even when they wanted to scold her for something.

Belle was able to walk at eleven months, and she toddled everywhere in the cottage, and liked to explore. Once Elena went crazy looking for her only to find her playing underneath some blankets in the armoire. Another time she crawled beneath their bed and fell asleep playing a game of hide and seek with Maurice, and he thought she'd wandered away and nearly tore the cottage apart to find her.

But one of her favorite things to do was to sit and read books, and she carried a picture book with her and would run to her parents and hold it out and beg in her little voice, "Read! Read to me, Papa!"

And most of the time her parents would happily put aside whatever they'd been doing and do so.

But occasionally they were too busy to read to her and then would tell her to go play quietly with her rag doll and stuffed puppy. Belle would obey for a time, but eventually she'd grow bored and go off to see what else there was to do. One day Elena was busy sewing a tear Maurice had put in his breeches and Maurice was drawing something in his workshop and Belle stopped playing with her doll Rose long enough to spot something new atop Maurice's desk in the alcove.

The little girl climbed upon his chair and leaned over to see what it was. It was a wooden apparatus with big colored wooden beads on wire that moved from side to side. It was Maurice's abacus, that he used to count money and other things. Next to it was a bottle of ink.

Belle's chubby hands reached out and slid the beads up and down, the way she had seen her papa doing. "One, two, three!" she crowed. Like Rumple she could talk fairly well, though she was not as chatty as her older counterpart.

As she reached for the second row of beads, her elbow struck the bottle of ink and upended it.

Viscous dark fluid leaked all over the desk.

"Uh oh!" she cried, then put her hand on it, trying to stop the stain.

She looked at her hand, then tried to wipe it off on her pretty blue dress. A black blotch appeared on her dress.

Then she tried to wipe it off on the desk itself, and soon little black handprints were all over.

Maurice came in from the shop to show Elena the new drawings he'd made of a machine that could lift rocks, and didn't see his little girl and asked, "Where's Belle?"

"She was right there on the hearth, dear, playing with her doll," Elena said, and pointed to where her daughter had been playing just minutes before.

Maurice coughed. "Elena, she's not there now," he said.

Then he heard a little giggled and turned around . . to see his daughter sitting on his chair . . .spattered with ink and inky handprints decorating the desk and the walls.

"Belle! Good heavens!" he cried.

"Oh, Maurice! Your desk! The ink!" Elena gasped. "She . . .moves like lightning! Belle, you naughty little minx!"

The child looked at them and said, "Mama, write . . like Papa!"

Maurice turned away before he burst out laughing.

Elena shook her head ruefully. "I ought to know better than to expect you to stay in one place for long. Come here!" She took her daughter and tried to wash off her ink stained hands and scolded her gently and put her in the corner for a few minutes while she and Maurice wiped the ink off the desk using some sand.

Then she gave Belle a bath and removed her soiled dress and replaced it with another one. "Maybe you need to wear a pinafore," Elena sighed. "I wish I knew of a way to get ink out of clothes."

"Maybe you ought to ask the wise women," suggested Maurice.

"Maybe I should," his wife said. Like Maurice, she owed the sisters a great debt for saving her life and Belle's life and she admired the three women for living as they did, on their own terms with no man to support them and even raising a child themselves.

The blue dress was one of Belle's favorites and Elena didn't want to have to cut it up for scraps. It had been a gift from her mother before they had moved here to Hearthstone. Elena went and picked up her daughter. "Come on, Belle. Let's go and pay a visit to the Spinner sisters."

It was what the villagers called them, though their true name was Valcourt. But since they were among simple country folk, the sisters didn't mind their new appellation.

It was a short walk to the spinsters shop and cottage, and Elena made the trip easily with Belle in her arms and the dress tucked into a pocket of her apron. She waved to some of the villagers they passed and when she reached the spinners' cottage, she knocked upon the door.

The blue door was opened a moment later by Aimee. "Elena! What brings you by?"

Elena smiled at her. "Oh, I have a question for you, Aimee."

"Come in then and have a cup of tea." Aimee invited. "Hello, Belle!"

Belle smiled shyly. "Hi!" she waved her little hand at Aimee.

"She's getting so big," exclaimed Aimee, leading the way into the cottage.

"I know and look, she's walking!" Elena said proudly and set Belle down.

Belle toddled over to the sofa and looked around. Rumple was playing with his stuffed horse on the rug, and looked up when he saw the other child.

Then he crawled over to Belle, his brown eyes sparkling. "Hi! I Rumple!" he pointed to himself. "Who're you?"

"Belle," she answered.

Rumple pulled himself up to an awkward stand by holding onto the sofa. He held out his horse. "Wanna play with my horsie?"

Belle nodded and said, "Oohh! Pretty!"

The stuffed horse was made of buttery gold leather and had a black mane and tail of yarn. It also had button eyes sewn on with triple thick thread and a cunning saddle as well. The horse had been made by Lauren, and it was Rumple's favorite toy besides his little blue striped blankie.

Aimee's eyes widened. "Well! That's amazing! He's usually so attached to that horse, he hardly lets it out of his arms."

"And now he's sharing with Belle," Elena remarked. "How sweet!"

Belle took the horse and made a soft neighing noise. "The horsie says-neigh!"

Rumple nodded. "An' the kitty says-mrrow!"

Both women chuckled.

"It looks like they've made a new friend," Elena said, and then she showed Aimee the ink-stained dress and explained how it had happened.

"Oh dearie me! Yours gets into as much mischief as my little imp!" Aimee said, and then took the dress and said, "This is a bad stain, but you can remove easily with a paste of milk and cornstarch. Come, I'll show you."

While the two children played, Aimee showed Elena how to make a paste and then spread it on the stain. "Now let it soak and wash it off tomorrow in hot water and you will see it will be gone."

"Thank you!" Elena said. "I feared it was completely ruined."

"No. You'll find that most stains are easy to get out once you know how," Aimee told her.

They smiled at their offspring, who were now sitting on the rag rug before the hearth, and Belle was playing peek-a-boo with Rumple's blankie, and the little boy was giggling delightedly and hugging his horse.

"Usually Rumple's so shy around people he doesn't know," Aimee said, amazed that her son was so relaxed around a girl he'd only just met.

"Belle is sometimes also. But she seems to love playing with Rumple." Elena murmured. "Perhaps it might be good to arrange a playdate."

"Yes. I think that would be good for both of them," agreed Aimee. She wanted Rumple to get accustomed to meeting people besides her and her sisters, and having another child to play with would help him overcome his shyness.

"How about tomorrow around twelve?" suggested Elena.

"Yes, that would be fine," Aimee nodded.

"I'd best get back home. Maurice will be wanting his supper soon," said his wife, then she went to collect her daughter. "Belle, time to go home."

Belle's face crumpled. "No! Play wif Rumple!"

"You can play with Rumple tomorrow, sweetie," Elena persuaded. "Now we have to go home and cook for Papa."

"I help!" Belle said, then she went and hugged Rumple. "Bye, Rumple! See you 'morrow!"

Rumple looked woebegone. "Bye, dearie!" he called, and waved as Elena carried Belle away. He crawled over to Aimee and tugged her skirt. "Mama, Belle go 'way?"

"Yes, she went home, dearie. But she'll be back tomorrow."

Rumple clapped his hands. "Yay!"

Little did he know, this was the beginning of a very special friendship.

**A/N: Hope you all liked this glimpse of baby Rumple and Belle. Review and let me know if you want more of them!**


	3. Whitewash

**3**

**Whitewash**

By the time Belle and Rumple were sixteen months old, they were inseparable playmates. Almost everyday they were with each other for at least several hours, either with Aimee or Lauren or with Elena at her cottage. Maurice was busy surveying some land for Lady Jeanette's noble husband, Jean-Paul, so he wasn't home during the day. When most of her housework was done and supper started, Elena visited with the Spinner sisters and that was when Rumple played with Belle, or on Wednesdays when Elena did laundry, she brought Belle over to Rumple's house to play while she washed and hung the clothes, since doing so was difficult with a toddler underfoot.

The Spinners had specific chores for each day of the week, and Rumple soon learned what they were, as the sisters taught him a little saying for each day—Wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday, Mend on Wednesday, Churn on Thursday, Clean on Friday, Bake on Saturday, Rest on Sunday.

Monday was wash day, a job that both Lauren and Aimee accomplished together, since it often took an entire day. First water was heated on the stove or in the fireplace. When the water came to a boil, soap shavings were added and the water was stirred until the soap dissolved. Next the clothes were dumped in. First the whites were washed, then the colored clothes. The clothes boiled for ten minutes and were then removed and rubbed with homemade soap and scrubbed on a ribbed washboard. After all the clothes had been washed the tub was filled with fresh water to rinse the clothes with.

Rumple always asked if he could help when he saw his mama or aunt doing chores, and finally one day Aimee got a small deep mixing bowl and filled it with warm water and gave it to Rumple with a bit of soap in it and said, "Now you wash your blankie, Rumple."

"I wash my blankie, Mama!" he declared proudly, and put his beloved blue and white striped blankie into the bowl and swished it about like he saw his mother and aunt do with the clothes. "Swish! Swish!"

Water splashed all over, but since he was outside in the back yard, no one cared. The little boy was barefoot, with his breeches rolled up to the knee and a small light shirt on. His ever present stick was beside the "tub", and he happily washed his blanket, getting rather soaked in the process.

But it was a warm day, with the sun shining brightly, and he soon dried and then Lauren hung his blankie on the clothes line with the other wash they had done so far, like petticoats, nighties, socks, caps, washrags, panties, and Rumple's diapers.

As the clothes flapped in the breeze and dried, Rumple clapped his hands and laughed. Then he spied a patch of pretty pink larkspur growing beside the big oak tree and went and picked them.

"Mama, look! Flowers for you n' Auntie Lauren!" he presented the larkspur to Aimee with all the gravity of a subject presenting a chest of jewels to a queen.

"Rumple, they're lovely!" Aimee said, beaming. "How sweet of you, dearie!" Then she put them in a little jam jar on the window ledge.

On Tuesday both households did their ironing and Belle and Rumple were taught to never come by the hot iron on the ironing board. In order to avoid accidents, Aimee took Rumple with her out to the kitchen garden and showed him how to pull weeds and Maurice did the same with Belle while Elena starched and ironed his shirts.

Wednesday was mending day in the Spinner household, which also meant spinning and weaving, and Claudette made Rumple a little toy spinning wheel that spun around with some yarn scraps so he could "spin" also. Belle saw it when she came over one day and cried for one of her own, so the next week she came on Wednesday, Claudette gave her one as well. To distinguish between them, Claudette painted the spokes of Belle's wheel blue and Rumple's yellow.

The two toddlers loved to pretend they were doing "work" and happily spun and played together on the rug by the hearth while the sisters sewed and spun thread.

Thursday was when Aimee churned butter for the week, and Rumple often accompanied her to the little barn where they kept Sally, the gentle black and white goat, and watched as Aimee milked her. Aimee always milked a small cup for him first and Rumple would drink it while his mama milked a pailful to churn, his little mouth covered in a milk mustache.

Then Aimee poured the milk into some long metal pans and left it to sit so the cream separated from the milk. Then she skimmed off the cream into a pan and poured it into the churn. When the cream was ready, Aimee put the long wooden dash into the churn and then put the cover over it. The dash was moved up and down through the hole in the cover until the cream was thick and grainy. Then Aimee took the lump of butter out of the buttermilk and washed it several times in cold water until the water ran clear. Next the butter was salted. After that Aimee molded the butter in the little butter-mold, which was carved in the shape of a teacup.

She put the buttermilk into a pitcher and the regular milk in another, which would be used for tea or for Rumple to drink with breakfast or supper. Lauren liked to drink the buttermilk and Aimee would use some in batter for griddle cakes, so nothing was wasted.

Friday was cleaning day for both households, and floors were swept and mopped, rugs beaten, blankets and rooms aired out, and everything polished and dusted. Elena made a little broom for Belle so she could sweep alongside her, and Rumple had a small mop so he could wash the floor like a big boy with Lauren. Belle also had a little featherduster and "dusted" the chairs and once she dusted Maurice when he came home for lunch, and the inventor laughed and scooped her up and tossed her into the air and cried, "You tried to dust me, _ma petite_?"

Belle giggled and cried, "More, Papa!"

Maurice laughed and obligingly tossed her into the air again.

Then he caught her and hugged her, rubbing his bristly chin alongside her soft cheek till she squealed. "Shave, Papa! Scratchy!"

Elena started laughing. "I guess she told you, darling!"

Maurice ran a hand over his chin. "I suppose I could shave again," he chuckled.

Saturday was baking day, and the day when Malcolm had shown up and tried to take Rumple, but the child soon forgot about the bad man after a time, and he loved baking day, when Aimee made rosemary bread and cookies or brownies.

Aimee always saved a small bit of dough for Rumple to make his own "loaf" of bread or cookies, though he usually ended up eating the cookie dough, and Aimee would tickle him and call him "Cookie Monster."

Rumple would kiss her cheek and smile his sweet smile and say, "I love Mama!" and laugh when she poked his tummy.

Now usually Sunday was considered a rest day free from chores where people took it easy and relaxed. But on one particular summer Sunday, a lanky boy of about eleven with a shock of red hair and freckles knocked upon the blue door of the sisters' cottage. He was dressed in serviceable brown breeches and a cream linen shirt, chewing on a piece of straw.

Lauren opened up the door, and upon seeing who was there, said, "Your Aunt Polly send you on over, Tom?"

"Yes'm," the boy, whose name was Tom Sawyer, an orphan who lived with his maiden aunt, Polly, a few houses down answered. "I'm here to do any chores you might have."

"Good. As a matter of fact I have one chore you can start today and finish the next weekend," Lauren declared.

"What's that, Miss Lauren?"

"Whitewash the front of the house," Lauren answered.

Tom gasped in dismay. "The whole thing?"

"Well, it wouldn't do to whitewash half the front, now would it?" she clucked.

Tom groaned.

"Maybe next time you won't be so quick to play pranks and set lizards loose in my shop, now will you, young man?" Lauren wagged a finger at him.

"No ma'am!" the ten-year-old sighed, for that was the reason he was here on Sunday doing chores, as repayment for his mischief a few days before, when he'd visited the shop with his Aunt Polly.

"You'll find the can of whitewash in the shed along with a brush." Lauren ordered briskly. "The sooner you begin, the sooner you'll be able to break for lunch."

"Okay, Miss Lauren," Tom said glumly. He went to get the can of whitewash.

Inside, Rumple and Belle were playing on the rug as usual. They were playing castle, and Belle was the princess and Rumple her knight, and he was going on a quest for her like they did in the storybook Claudette read to him.

But after an hour, the two grew tired and Aimee went and put them both down for naps on the sofa. While the two slept, she began to make chicken rice soup in her old black cauldron. Meanwhile, Tom finished whitewashing half the front of the house and decided he was tired too, and took a break for twenty minutes. Then he decided to eat lunch and went inside to see what was cooking, leaving the open can of whitewash and the paint brush sitting on the porch.

"Something sure smells good, Miss Aimee," Tom said wistfully.

Aimee turned to see the lanky boy standing behind her. "If you'd like a bowl of soup, Tom, go and wash up over there."

Tom quickly did so and then sat down with a big bowl of soup and a piece of Aimee's fresh rosemary bread with butter.

As the boy ate hungrily, the two toddlers woke up and walked towards the cottage door, which was half open since Tom forgot to close it all the way in his haste.

Rumple walked out onto the porch, blinking in the sunlight. Belle followed.

The little girl spotted the open can of whitewash. "What's that, Rumple?"

Rumple looked at it. "Milk?" he guessed.

But when he went over to the can he wrinkled his nose. "Yuck!"

Then Belle saw the paint brush. Her papa sometimes used one to paint things he was making. "Paint!" she yelled.

Rumple frowned. "Paint?"

"Uh huh!" Belle went and grabbed the brush, then she waved it around and whitewash dripped on the ground. Then she went to paint the porch.

"My turn!" Rumple sang after a moment.

"No, me!"

"Me!"

Belle shook her head stubbornly.

Rumple sighed and then went and dipped a hand in the whitewash. Then he began making handprints on the porch.

Within ten minutes both Belle and Rumple were spattered with whitewash. Rumple had two streaks down each cheek like war paint, and Belle had whitewash in her hair and had walked in it and it was on the bottom of her little shoes.

Tom went and thanked Aimee for lunch and went to complete his task.

"Holy hopping horny toads!" he screeched when he saw the two babies and the wreck they'd made with the whitewash. "Miss Aimee! Your young'uns got into a peck o' trouble! You'd better come and see this!"

Rumple glanced up from where he was "making pictures" on the porch floor. "I's drawin'!"

"Pretty!" Belle said, tracing a flower on the floor.

Aimee came running out to see what was going on.

"Oh great Circe!" she exclaimed upon seeing her two charges covered head to foot with whitewash. "Rumplestiltskin and Belle! What are you two doing?"

"Paintin'!" the two imps chorused.

"You know you shouldn't be touching things like that," she scolded.

Both babies looked ashamed and started sniffling.

"Mama mad?" Rumple's eyes grew misty.

"Sorry," Belle apologized.

"Aww shucks!" Tom giggled, then coughed when he got a sharp Look from Aimee.

"Landsakes!" she groaned. "You two look like paint monsters! And how did you get into the whitewash?"

"Err . . .I kinda left the can open," Tom admitted.

Aimee sighed. "Oh dearie dearie dear! Well, what's done is done. But next time, Tom, put the lid on. And now I suppose you might as well paint the floor too."

"Dearie dearie dear!" Rumple repeated, smirking.

Tom rolled his eyes. Darn babies!

"Come here, you two scamps!" Aimee ordered, trying not to smile at the sight the two presented. "You two need a bath!"

"Yay! Bath time!" sang Belle, for she loved playing in the bathtub.

"You want some help?" offered Tom, not anxious to start whitewashing again.

Aimee shook her head. "No, dearie. I can manage," she answered, and picked up both children and brought them inside.

She floated a towel onto the floor of the kitchen and said, "Now you two stay right on here and no moving while I get the tub. Or else it's the corner for you."

Both mischievous toddler shook their heads and stayed still while Aimee got the tub, filled with warm water, and put lavender soap shavings into the water. Once the tub was filled with bubbles, she helped the two undress and get in.

"Here, play with these till I wash you," Aimee said, and gave them a duck, a squid and a mermaid to play with while she went to get some fresh clothes for them.

Luckily, Elena had packed an extra dress and Aimee summoned pants and a shirt for Rumple.

Then she scrubbed both children from head to toe, and it took extra long to get the paint out of Belle's hair.

By then Tom had finished painting almost all of the porch and opened the door to tell Aimee he was finished and could he go home for the day, as he still had things to do around his own home for his aunt.

"Mistress?" he called, walking into the cottage.

"In here, Tom," Aimee called.

She was fetching some towels and diapers from the chest in Rumple's room.

Tom went towards the sound of her voice, once again forgetting to close the door.

Now Rumple and Belle were still in the large wooden tub in the kitchen, which faced the front door so you could see who entered and left the cottage, and both were splashing delightedly in the sudsy water. But the open door let in a summer breeze and Rumple shivered slightly and looked towards it.

It was then that a stray calico kitten happened to walk across the porch which was almost dry to nibble on a potted plant beside the door.

Rumple, who had very sharp eyes, and noticed everything, spotted the cat immediately. "Kitty!" he pointed to it. "Here kitty, kitty!"

Rumple loved cats, loved to pet them and play with them, and the sisters had thought about getting him a kitten eventually, when he was old enough to treat it gently and take care of it.

The calico was startled and crouched in the doorway, giving Belle a glimpse of it also before fleeing.

"No! 'Mere, kitty!" Rumple wailed.

Meanwhile, Aimee went to the apothecary chest in the bedroom to give Tom a syrup for his Aunt Polly's cough, which was why she wasn't there in time to corral Rumple as he climbed out of the tub, grabbed his stick, and limped right across the cottage and over to the door, dripping soap suds and naked as the day he was born.

"Here kitty, kitty!" he called.

"I help get the kitty!" Belle cried and then she also jumped out of the tub and followed.

Tom was headed out the door when he stopped dead. "I'll be hornswoggled! Mistress Spinner, you got some tadpoles escapin'!"

"I've got what?" Aimee said, coming out of the bedroom just in time to see the two toddlers run out the door naked after the vanished cat.

"_Rumplestilstkin!_" she shrieked. "Come back here you scamp! Belle!"

The babies ignored her, all their attention was focused on finding the cat that had run away and they toddled outside totally uncaring that they were wet and naked.

"Kitty, kitty!"

Tom was cracking up, till Aimee swatted him on the back of the head and yelled, "Don't just stand there, Master Sawyer! Help me get them!"

She ran out the door calling, "Rumple! Never mind the cat!"

Tom straightened up and went to help, hotfooting it down the porch steps barefoot and still snickering.

Angelique Muffet, Mary Contrary, and Susannah Sprat were on their porches lounging and visiting when they saw the two babies streaking across the Spinners' yard.

"Oh my goodness!"

"Will you look at that!"

"Ohh! My Peter did that once!"

All three started laughing.

Rumple paused, looking forlornly after the missing cat. "Here, kitty!"

"Rumplestiltskin!" Aimee panted, finally catching up to him and wrapping him in a towel. "You don't run outside without a stitch on!"

"Mama, I pet the kitty!"

"Oh, you and your cats!" she scolded while her neighbors giggled hysterically. "You're going to be the crazy old cat man!"

"C'mere, li'l lady!" Tom grinned and picked up Belle, wrapping her in a second towel.

"Kitty go bye!" she told him.

"Yup, an' I would too if I had two young'uns after me!" Tom winked.

They brought the two babies back into the cottage chased by the laughter of their neighbors.

"These kids are slicker n' greased pigs!" Tom said after he'd set Belle down.

"Thank you, Tom," Aimee said. "Here's a few cookies to take with you."

Tom's eyes lit up. "Thank you kindly, Mistress Spinner."

"I wanna cookie!" Rumple cried.

"How do you ask?"

"Pwease!" he lisped. "Pwease may I, Mama?"

"Very good!" she kissed him. "And you can have one when you're dry, scamp." She waved a hand at Tom. "Go on, Tom. Come back next weekend and you can finish the rest of the house."

Tom darted out the door lickety-split, this time remembering to close it.

Inside, Aimee began drying her two intrepid little cat chasers, thinking she would have a funny story to tell her sisters when they came home for supper and one to store in her memory and share with her son to make him blush when he was old enough to go courting.

**A/N: hope you all liked the mischief these two got into and I figured it'd be neat to add Tom in here, though instead of whitewashing a fence, he ended up doing a cottage! Please review and let me know what you think!**


	4. Blankies and Bullies

**4**

**Blankies and Bullies**

Though small for his age, Rumple soon proved he was quite smart for two and a half, recalling whole stories after hearing them only once or twice from his mama and aunts, as well as anything else someone happened to say in front of him. Lauren said he repeated gossip as well as any housewife over the garden gate, and on occasion repeated things he shouldn't.

Such as the time a customer walked into the shop while he was playing with his blankie behind the counter, complaining about the wretched weather and how his wife was bitching at him again, and he needed something to take the edge off his bursitis.

While Claudette mixed up a tonic for him, Rumple hummed to himself, pretending he was hiding in a cave from an ogre, and put the blankie over his head, and pondering the words he'd just heard from Angus McRae's mouth.

McRae thanked Claudette and left, and Claudette turned to Lauren and said, "Honestly, that Angus gets grouchier every day!"

Just then the little bell over the shop tinkled and Lenore Snowdon came in. Now Lenore tended to put on airs and she was only here to see if one of the sisters could make her a potion to ensure her youth was preserved, as she was almost twenty-nine and starting to be past her prime, as she put it. She was a tall willowy blond with sharp blue eyes and a pretty pouting mouth and sculpted cheekbones. She was wearing a pretty pink day dress and a large hat with colored flowers on it.

Claudette's eyes bugged out when she saw the hat. She thought it made Lenore look like a walking planter. "How may I help you?"

"I need a potion, Spinner," Lenore declared prissily.

"And what ails you?" queried Claudette. "A sour stomach? Poor digestion?"

Lenore glared at her. "No. I'm getting old!"

"So does everyone," Lauren put in tartly. "There's only one other alternative, you know."

"I heard you can make magic potions to stop aging," Lenore whispered. "I'll take one if you have it."

Lauren cocked her head at the young woman. "And what would you be needing one of those  
>for?"<p>

"I just told you . . .I'm getting _old_!"

Claudette started to giggle and had to turn away.

Rumple peered out from behind the counter, his thumb in his mouth, at the odd lady. He had his blankie in one hand and was leaning on the counter.

Lenore felt eyes on her and turned. "The brat's grown some since you last brought him to market." She sniffed, then said in a high falsetto such as one uses to a tiny baby or a dog, "Haven't you, wittle Wumple?"

Rumple remained silent, wondering who she was talking to. He stared at her with wide eyes.

"A bit slow is he?" Lenore snorted. "Figures given who his mama was. Juliette Marchand was a bit of a loony."

"Julia was very depressed after Malcolm abandoned her and her papa threw her out." Claudette said defensively. "She wasn't stupid and neither is Rumple!"

Lenore rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Claudette! I know he's your fosterling, but he looks like a simpleton. Why, I'll bet he can't even say a whole sentence or say what the weather's like."

"The weather's gray an' gloomy an' the wind blows right through your old bones, an' I ain't got a moment's peace with all your bitching, woman!" Rumple replied, repeating what Angus had said just ten minutes before about his wife.

Lenore gasped, her mouth opening and shutting like a landed trout. "Well! I never!"

"Excuse me!" Lauren coughed and then dashed into the back room of the shop before she exploded into giggles right there.

Claudette had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from busting out laughing. "Still think he's stupid, Lenore?" she queried. Then she turned and shook a finger at her charge. "Rumplestiltskin! Don't you go repeating what that foul mouthed grouch says!"

"Humph! Calling me a bitch! Don't you teach the brat any manners, Claudette?"

Rumple eyed the woman, thinking she was too shrill and loud and added another saying he'd heard. "If the shoe fits, missy."

Lenore turned bright red. "How _dare _you?" she cried. "Why I oughta—"

She lifted a hand to the child, but Claudette grabbed her wrist and hissed, "Touch my child, Snowdon and I'll give you a black eye and some crooked teeth to go with your old looks!"

"You wouldn't dare!" the other woman huffed. "My father—"

"Try me, Lenore!" Claudette growled. "And your father might be a town alderman now, but he was a farmer same as the rest of the folks here before that, so don't get on your high horse unless you want to get knocked off."

"Oooh! You . . you . . ." Lenore was beet red now and looked like she was on the verge of having apoplexy . . .or a temper tantrum. "Go drown yourself in the lake, you horse faced old prune!" Then she stormed out of the shop.

"Bye, silly bitch!" Rumple called after her.

Claudette lost it then, burying her face in her apron and laughing so hard she nearly broke a rib.

Rumple giggled too . . .and it was only then the youngest sister realized she shouldn't be laughing at something like that and scolded him belatedly and gave him a taste of lemon verbena soap for saying a naughty word . . . though she and her sisters laughed about it all night after tucking Rumple into bed.

"Fancy her thinking our Rumple was a simpleton!" snorted Lauren.

"Well, he certainly proved her wrong, didn't he?" chuckled Aimee.

"And how! Out of the mouths of babes!" Claudette cracked up.

"Serves her right, the haughty piece!" Lauren smirked.

Her sisters agreed.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

In the Avignon household, Belle also kept her parents on their toes. The little girl was forever running around without her shoes on, pulling off her sturdy leather shoes and stockings and leaving them in the middle of the floor. Then she scampered around the cottage or in the yard barefoot, unmindful of mud or splinters.

Elena was forever calling, "Belle! Put your shoes back on!" and then chasing the intrepid child to put her footwear on.

"No, Mama!" Belle grinned. "I likes no shoes on!" Then she scurried away, her small feet pitter pattering across the ground, through the dew soaked grass and dust, her pinafore hem damp and speckled with dirt.

"I don't know how that scamp doesn't manage to get hurt without her shoes on!" she said exasperatedly to her husband one night as they cuddled in their bed while Belle slept in her trundle bed next to them.

"Why, _ma cherie,_ do you not know that when I was a boy, I went without shoes all day and night in the summer and my feet were brown as old leather and twice as tough!" Maurice chortled.

Elena rolled her eyes. "That's fine for you, Maury! You were a boy! But Belle's a girl, how am I going to make a lady out of her when she runs all over like a witchwoman of the woods?"

"Don't fret, my love! Belle's a little child yet. Let her have her freedom now, soon enough she'll be old enough to notice boys and you'll be putting her in corsets and I'll be getting out my bow and waiting to shoot any boy that looks at her crossways." Maurice soothed.

Elena shook her head. "I'm being foolish, aren't I? Wanting her to behave like a lady when she doesn't even know the meaning of the word. And really, they stay little for such a short time, I should cherish this while it lasts. Soon enough she'll be going to school and making friends with other girls and not have time for her old mama."

Though both parents avoided mentioning the fact that Belle might not make friends as easily as they thought . . .due to Claudette's prediction that she would be a Seer. There was time enough to worry about that later.

Elena snuggled against her husband, thanking the gods she had found such an intelligent and understanding man such as Maurice to marry, one who didn't mind his wife with her own ideas and able to read, write, and figure as well as any merchant of Broceliande. She kissed him lightly and fell asleep, wondering what new surprises the morning would bring.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

The next morning Belle ate her buttermilk roll with freshly churned butter and strawberry jam, drinking her goat's milk from her little cup and also some scrambled eggs with some bacon in it. "Mama, we go by Rumple's today?" she asked as she tried to feed herself with her little spoon.

"Today we're going to market, Belle," Elena answered. "Mama needs to sell her samplers and jam and we'll see Rumple then. Now let's eat your breakfast, _cherie_."

The child had more eggs on her dress than inside of her, so Elena patiently helped her eat and then threw the scraps out on the compost heap for fertilizing the garden.

Once she had wiped her daughter's sticky hands and face clean, Elena went to gather her bundle for market, and Belle took a warm bun and said, "I bring one for Rumple, Papa," to her father, who was busy drawing some plans for a new type of water wheel, one that would work better than the old design, drawing more water and being more efficient.

"That's good, Belle, that you share with your friend." Maurice smiled at the auburn-haired tot.

"Sharing is caring," Belle recited a phrase she often heard from Elena.

"Indeed, _ma petite,"_ Maurice agreed. "To share means you have a generous spirit." He picked up his daughter and kissed her. "Never lose that, Belle. A lady is known by her generosity and kindness to others. "Tis how I met your mama—she gave a hungry inventor a few coins so I could buy supper . . . and the next day I returned to thank her and ended up courting her and marrying her and here we are."

Belle smiled her sunny smile and kissed her papa's nose. "Papa, you coming?"

"No, baby girl, I need to stay here today. But your mama will bring you. Have a good time with Rumple."

Belle nodded enthusiastically. "Rumple and I play, Papa."

The inventor gave her a return smile. He liked Rumple for Belle's playmate, as the boy was good natured and intelligent, despite being lame and shy, and he balanced his sometimes impulsive and intrepid daughter.

Belle spotted her favorite book on the table beside his drawings and cried, "Read, Papa! Read 'bout the Gingerbread Man."

"But Belle, you don't have time to read," he protested.

"Read, Papa! A little bit. Pwease!" she begged winsomely.

"Okay. But you twisted my arm." Maurice picked up the book and began to read the gingerbread man tale again.

Elena returned with her market basket and her sack of goods on her arm, and opened her mouth to call out for Belle until she saw the child on her papa's knee, and Maurice reading the familiar story in the children's storybook again. She halted and smiled at the lovely picture they presented, her husband with his flyaway brown curly hair and her daughter with her rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, lisping the words right along with him.

_My precious child and my beloved . . .the balance of me,_ she thought, her heart swelling with love.

She waited for about ten minutes until Maurice had finished reading the story again before calling Belle to come and go to market with her.

Belle leaped eagerly down and grabbing the roll for Rumple, scampered over and took Elena's hand. "Bye, Papa! Mama n'I are goin' to market!" Then she practically dragged Elena out the door, singing, "To market, to market, to buy a fat hog, home again home again, jiggity jog!"

Elena waved at Maurice, then followed her daughter, the sunlight striking fiery highlights in her dark auburn curls.

Meanwhile, in the Spinner household, Aimee and Lauren were preparing to go to market also to sell Aimee's bread, little pies, and the three sisters' thread, for even though they had their shop with good in it and potions, they always went to market day each week. It was a chance to see their neighbors and chat and get out of the cottage and the shop for a day.

Rumple had his blankie, which he took everywhere, with him, as well as his little stick, carved from a shaft of sturdy black oak with a padded leather grip and one end was padded with leather and lamb's wool so he could tuck it under his arm if he needed to lean on it. The bottom was shod in layers of beaten copper and it had several runes carved in it against rotting and snapping. It would also enlarge as Rumple grew, thus eliminating the necessity of making a new stick each time the boy grew taller.

Rumple's lame left foot was wrapped firmly in some bandages and a light leather slipper, it was twisted inward, making it difficult for him to even put weight on it. But he had learned to compensate for his disability, and could get around with his stick and one foot almost as well as normal children could on two. Except for playing running games and other boyish sports, like stickball and kick ball. Though he could roll or kick a ball with his good foot to Belle or Aimee as long as he made sure his stick was planted firmly.

But not being able to run made it impossible to play any active games with other little boys.

So far, however, Rumple seemed not to mind this lack, content to play with Belle and his aunts and mama.

Though Aimee worried how other children would treat him when he was old enough to attend the little village school, and considered keeping the boy at home.

But that could be discussed later with her sisters. For now she was content to bring Rumple to the market so he could see other villagers and play with Belle, since Elena's stall was right next to theirs.

The Spinners stuffed a basket and a backpack full of their wears and Lauren carried the backpack while Aimee took the basket and Rumple's hand. Then they started off to the market in the village square.

Belle pulled away from Elena when she saw Rumple, coming to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. "Rumple! Lookit! I brung you a roll! Mama baked it this morning."

Rumple hugged his friend back and kissed her. "For me? Thanks, Belle!" he took the roll in his free hand and began to eat it. The roll had currants baked in it and some sunflower seeds as well as cinnamon. "Mmmm!"

Belle smiled happily, holding her book in her little satchel. "I likes them too. Yummy!"

While the children greeted each other, their mothers and aunt set up their stalls for the day, setting out their wares and hanging their signs on the wooden booths.

Elena looked over at the two children and pointed to a little grassy area about ten feet away where some other kids were playing with a ball and a wooden hoop. "Why don't you two go over there and play?" she suggested.

"Let's!" Belle agreed and Rumple followed uneasily. He didn't really know that many other kids and was a little nervous and scared. He swallowed the last piece of his roll and wished he had something to drink. Crumbs were all over him.

Belle went over to where some older children, a boy and a girl, were playing. "Hi! Can I play? N' my friend too?"

The girl gave her a snort. "You're too little to play this game. Why don't you and your little friend play your own game? C'mon, Jerry!"

They moved off to the far end of the grassy area.

Belle looked a bit upset. "They said I'm too little."

"Don't worry. We can play together," Rumple said, touching her arm.

"Right. Let's 'tend we're goin' on a quest . . .to save a trapped man from a witch!"

Rumple sat down happily on the grass and put his blankie beside him.

Soon the two were playing with some small sticks and Belle's doll and Rumple had two wooden figures, one a horse and the other a little cornhusk doll with a blue coat.

For nearly an hour they were undisturbed . . .and Aimee sold some of her bread and Elena her jam and some of her embroidery. Lauren bartered for some eggs with her thread and a few other staples, like a cone of brown sugar and flour.

Some birds, attracted by the bread crumbs on Rumple's shirt, came and hopped over to him. Rumple's brown eyes widened and he sat very still as the tiny sparrows and a blue finch came over and began to peck the crumbs off him one at a time.

Belle's blue eyes also widened and she stared at her friend with her mouth gaping.

Rumple had tiny birds all over his shoulders and arms, eating the crumbs off him greedily.

"Oh!" she gasped softly.

It was like something out of a tale.

Aimee and Elena happened to glance over and see the astonishing sight and both women pointed and cried, "Will you look at that! It's like he's a bird feeder! How amazing!"

Their cries drew another boy over to investigate, seven-year-old Gaston, who was bigger, stronger, and meaner than any boy his age in the village. He took great delight in pummeling those who "looked at him funny". And taking other children's treats and pocket money if they had any. He sauntered up to Rumple and Belle and sneered, "Whatcha doin' you dumb bitty babies? Feedin' the birdies?" Then he laughed, spraying spit all over.

"Eww!" Belle cried, wiping spit off her cheek.

The birds, seeing a predator, took flight and Rumple frowned at the older boy. "You scared 'em away!"

"Boo hoo!" Gaston sneered. "Whyn't you cry about it—you big BABY!"

"I . . .I ain't a baby . . ." Rumple stammered, suddenly afraid of this loudmouthed older child.

"Uh huh. You're a big baby that still wears diapers and drinks a bottle!" Gaston brayed. Then he spotted Rumple's blankie. "And needs a blankie!"

"You be quiet, you ole meanie!" Belle cried, giving the other boy her best you're-in-trouble-now glare . . .the same one her mama gave her when she'd been naughty.

Gaston sneered and shoved her down. "Shut up . . .brat!"

Belle started to cry.

Rumple got mad then. "Leave her 'lone!"

"Make me—cripple!" taunted Gaston. "Oh, I forgot! You can't! 'cause you're a little lame bastard!"

"An' you're a big fat farthead!" Rumple cried. He tried to stand up but Gaston shoved his stick and made him fall.

As he tumbled to the ground, Gaston grabbed Rumple's blankie.

Rumple began sniffling. "No! My blankie!"

"Aww! Did the baby lose his blankie?" Gaston cried.

"You give it back!" Belle hollered. Then she did something she never had before.

She ran up to the older boy and kicked him hard in the shin.

Gaston yelped and backed away, still clutching the blanket.

"My blankie!" wailed Rumple, holding out his hands.

Elena and Lauren looked over to see what was going on and Elena cried, "Hey! You! Give that back to Rumple!"

Gaston made a rude gesture at her and darted away down the row of stalls.

Rumple began bawling as he saw his blankie disappearing.

Aimee went and picked up Rumple and hugged him. "It's all right, dearie! We'll get it back! Shhh!"

Belle was crying too because Rumple was. She ran up to her mother, tears streaking her little face. "Mama! That bad boy took Rumple's blankie!"

Elena knelt to dry her daughter's tears. "I know, Belle. But don't worry, sweetie. We'll get it back."

"How, Mama?" asked Belle worriedly.

"This is how," Lauren said coldly, and she made a twirling gesture and called softly, "Gaston Lafarge, come to me!"

Magic sparked from her hands and a long bluish purple thread of light shot out . . . and flew after the nasty bully.

Gaston tried to hide in his papa's smithy, but the seeking thread found him there . . .just as he cut a large hole in Rumple's blankie and was going to throw it into the forge fire. His papa was outside, shoeing a big plow horse.

The glowing thread wrapped around the boy and dragged him back to Lauren.

Lauren tapped her foot when she saw Gaston and the blankie. "Well, boy?" she demanded as the magical thread brought Gaston to her feet. "What have you got to say for yourself, taking my boy's blankie like that?"

"Lemme go you rotten ole witch!" Gaston cried.

Elena scowled. "You ill mannered little brat! How dare you talk to Mistress Lauren like that!"

"He's just like his papa, Elena. No manners and a nasty tongue," snorted Lauren. Gaston's father, Gervase, was a most unpleasant man and no one really liked him, but they feared him and his big fists and loud mouth. Lauren snatched the blankie from Gaston. "Here, Rumple!" she said, giving her nephew the blankie.

Rumple took it and hugged it . . .until he saw the huge hole in it. "My _blankie_!" he shrieked in horror.

He burst into tears.

Lauren spun on the brat. "You ripped his blankie? Why?"

"Felt like it," Gaston shrugged. "So what?"

"Then I suppose you feel like saying sorry to Rumple and picking weeds in my garden for a week," Lauren began.

"I ain't doin' nothin' for you!" Gaston cried, trying to get free.

But the magical thread held him fast.

"Then maybe THIS will convince you!" Lauren snapped. "Since your papa never taught you any manners . . . _I_ will!" And she grabbed the naughty brat by his ear and marched him over to Rumple. "Apologize!"

Gaston yowled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Now!"

"Sorry!" he cried. Then he bit Lauren and tried to get away, since she had released him from her spell.

"You dare to bite me, boy?" she growled, incensed.

Then without preamble she spun the boy around and delivered six firm swats to Gaston's backside.

Gaston wailed sharply.

All the other villagers looked on in approval. Gervase had let the boy run wild, and he'd had this coming for a long time. But only one of the Spinners would have dared Gervase's temper. They feared no one, man or woman, in Hearthstone.

"Now . . .get on home and tell your papa how you've been a naughty imp and gotten your backside tanned for it!" Lauren ordered, releasing the child.

Gaston backed away, holding his sore behind and bawling, "I'm telling! Pa-a! The Spinner witch spanked me!"

Lauren dusted off her hands.

Several of her neighbors clapped. "Good for you, Missus!"

"About time that brat got what for!"

"And if Gervase tries to give you any grief, Miss Lauren, tell him to talk to me!" said Graham, the forester. "I'll set him straight!"

"He won't," Lauren said. "Because his son was wrong to bully Rumple and bite me and even he knows that."

Meanwhile, Rumple was still upset over his blankie. "It's broken!" he wept.

"Rumple, dearie, don't cry!" Aimee said. "Mama will sew it."

Belle came up to him where he was being cuddled by Aimee. "Rumple . . .it's not broken!" the little girl said. "Now it's a shawl!"

Rumple sniffled. "How?"

"Look!" she took the blankie and pulled it over his head through the hole. "See?"

Rumple stared at the striped blankie he now wore. He stopped crying. He fingered the blankie. "Umm . . . you're right! Mama! It's a shawl now!"

He smiled at Belle as Aimee set him down beside her and handed him his stick. The striped blanket shawl hung almost to his feet, but he didn't care. His blankie was now a shawl, thanks to Belle. And that awful boy had gotten a good spanking from Auntie Lauren in front of the whole market.

Rumple grinned at Belle. "You wanna play with Peter Pan?" he asked Belle, holding out his cornhusk doll.

Belle accepted his offer graciously, then held out her book. "You wanna read a story?"

Rumple took the book and opened it, turning to a page with a giant and began to make up a story-"reading" to Belle while she had Peter Pan and her doll Sue go on a quest to find a magic wand.

Crisis dealt with, the women and men turned back to their booths and selling their wares.

Malcolm stumbled out of the tavern, still nursing a hangover, and saw Rumple beside the Spinner sisters. His bleary piggy eyes narrowed and he considered trying again to snatch the child away. Child slaves were worth their weight in gold at the Thieves Market. And he had a buyer all ready for the boy.

He waited until Lauren and Aimee were busy with customers before he approached the back of the booth and beckoned to Rumple.

"Hey, laddie! Want some candy?" he held out a big rainbow lollipop. He gave the child a big fake smile.

Rumple looked up and shook his head warily. He remembered the man from before . . . and how his mama had chased him off with the broom. "Go way!"

"Not without you!" Malcolm snarled, and he went to snatch Rumple up.

But the bracelet Rumple wore suddenly repelled Malcolm . . .right across the way into some soldiers who were crossing the street.

"Watch where you're going, you idiot!" yelled one, smacking Malcolm on the back of the head.

"Hey now, I didn't mean . . ." the sneaky man began.

His companion eyed him. "Hey! I haven't seen you report for muster yet!"

"That's Malcolm Kerr!" hooted a woman selling aprons.

"The only thing he's good for is a hand of cards and stealing your ale and money!"

The big soldier grabbed Malcolm by the shirt. "That so? Well, now you're a member of the army, my lad!"

Malcolm tried to get away, but the soldier held him fast. "Now wait a minute, man! I'm not good soldier material. I've got a crick in me spine! And a weak stomach. You don't want me in your army, honest!"

"We need people like you . .everyone serves . . ." grunted the soldier. "No matter what. Now get your ass in gear . . .recruit!" He kicked Malcolm in the backside to get him moving.

As they frogmarched his father away, Rumplestiltskin giggled. "Bye bye, dumb bastard!" he called.

"_Rumplestiltskin_!" Aimee shouted, while everyone else around her doubled over laughing.

This was a market day that the villagers wouldn't soon forget.

**A/N:Hope you all caught the referece to Beauty and the Beast in there and liked it! I just had to use it . . .hope you all liked and thanks for all the awesome reviews!**


	5. Hush Little Baby

**5**

**Hush Little Baby**

_Three years later:_

Belle held Rumple's hand as they made their way along the main street of the village to the little white schoolhouse situated at the end of the street, with its bell and the playground with the swings and teetertotter and wooden castle. It was their first day of school and both children were eager to see the inside of the schoolroom and meet their new teacher, Miss Mary Mack and other children their age.

Belle was wearing a new buttercup yellow dress with a ruffle hem and a sweetheart neckline edged in lace, with matching frilly stockings and soft black leather shoes. She had her hair done up in a pretty matching bow and her cerulean eyes were wide with excitement. In one hand she carried her school satchel and a lunch sack.

Rumple was also dressed in new clothing, a pair of soft kidskin breeches and cunning boots that laced up to his knees. His shirt was a soft blue color, almost the color of the sky, and a tooled vest accompanied it. His flyaway floofy hair was caught back in a tail, and he limped along gamely with his stick. His brown leather satchel was in his shoulder and inside was his lunch sack. His other hand held Belle's.

As they walked down the street, some other children came and joined them. There was Cora, the plump and pretty miller's daughter, in her red dress with pigtails and shiny new shoes, and her friend Bo Peep, a dark haired child in a pink candy-striped dress with matching shoes and a frilly parasol, her hair all done up in curled ringlets with a huge pink bow in it. She put her nose in the air as soon as she saw Rumple and Belle.

"Look! It's the inventor's daughter and her little crippled friend!" she giggled to Cora.

Cora laughed nastily. "Crazy old Maurice! And how's your coward papa, Rumple? Get any letters yet telling you if he's still alive?"

"My papa's not crazy!" Belle snapped.

Rumple just looked at the ground. There was no denying what Malcolm was, the news had come back to the village six months after Malcolm had been hauled off to boot camp. Malcolm had gotten a sentry drunk one night with some filched whiskey and done a runner. Deserted his post as lookout and the army and no one had ever heard from him again.

And now he was branded a coward and so was his son.

"You're a little lame bastard, Rumplestiltskin!" jeered George Porgy, a tall kid with blond hair and pugnacious features in a set of good brown breeches and a white shirt with a brown tunic with gold edging on it. His papa was a merchant and one of the richest men in the village.

"A _yellow_ lame bastard!" snorted his friend Felix, another blond with an aqua and green shirt and black breeches. He also was taller then Rumple, but then most of the children were, since Rumple was small for his age. He gave Rumple a shove. "Ain't that right, Rumpy?"

Rumple staggered, grabbing his stick hard. "I . . .I'm not a coward! My papa might be, but I'm not!" he tried to speak up boldly, like Aunt Lauren had told him to do when people brought that up. But he was afraid of Felix, who had the reputation of making kids eat dirt if he didn't like them.

"Oh yes you are!" Felix jeered and pointed at him. "Crippled coward!"

"Crippled coward! Crippled coward! Can't run can only hide! Crippled coward!" taunted George. Then he grabbed Rumple's stick and yanked it, making the little boy fall on the ground. "Aww! Did the coward baby fall down?"

Rumple just looked at his feet, a flush spreading over his cheekbones, his eyes filled with tears for the fall had bruised him and he didn't know why these children were being so mean to him when he'd done nothing to them.

"You leave him alone, you brats!" Belle shouted, going to help Rumple up.

"Whatcha gonna do about it, Clara-Belle?" brayed Felix. "Mooo!"

"He's a coward and she's a cow!" hooted George.

Bo and Cora cracked up and started making mooing noises.

Belle glared at them. "You shut up! I'm not a cow!"

"Mooo mooo!" Bo warbled.

Belle managed to get Rumple to his feet, who had gone quiet as he sometimes did when he was nervous. "You all right?"

He nodded and leaned on his stick. He felt sick to his stomach and wished he were home with his mama and aunts, helping in the shop. He had been looking forward to going to school and showing everyone how smart he was, how he could read and even reckon some with an abacus like Lauren had taught him, but now he just wanted to run back home and crawl under the bed.

"Crybaby! You gonna cry now?" demanded George rudely.

Rumple sniffled, for he was a sensitive child and the others' cruelty cut him to the bone.

"Shut up Georgie Porgy!" Belle cried angrily. "Why you pickin' on Rumple? He didn't do nothin' to you!"

"He's a lame bastard and a coward like his papa, that's why!"

"And he exists!" put in Felix. "My mama said the Spinners should left him in the forest for the wolves to eat rather than raise up another no account coward like his papa!"

Rumple cringed.

"Maybe he _was_ raised by wolves!" Cora sniffed. Then she pointed at Rumple. "Look! He's all dirty!"

Rumple looked down and realized his new breeches had gotten dust on them when he'd fallen. He tried to brush them off while Bo Peep sneered, "Eeew! He's a dirty boy! Probably has fleas!"

"I do not!" Rumple cried softly, managing to find his voice at last.

Suddenly Belle felt something hot and prickly behind her eyes and she turned upon Bo Peep and said, "Rumple doesn't have fleas, but _you're_ gonna get lice and have to shave your head bald!" she could See the offensive brat in her mind clear as day getting her hair washed with turpentine and then someone cutting it because she had bugs in her hair.

"No I won't!" Bo squealed, clutching her fat sausage shaped ringlets.

"Oh, but you will," Belle assured her in an eerily grown-up voice. "And your mama will have to cut all your beautiful hair off and make you wear a yellow rose printed kerchief."

Bo Peep gaped at her. Her mama did have a rose-printed kerchief in a drawer at home. "How . .. how do you know that?"

Belle's blue eyes were wide and unfocused. "I See it . . . like I see you. You'll have lice," then she whirled and pointed to George and Felix. "And they'll have the trots from eating so many stolen apples from Mr. Appleseed's orchard and have to stay in bed."

The boys gasped and backed away.

"You're making that up!" Felix babbled. But he had been thinking, and so had George, of going to the orchard after school today.

"You're a liar!" George cried.

"No, she's a Seer," Rumple corrected coldly. "And she can See true."

"Witch!" Cora screeched! "You're a witch, Belle!"

"A nasty little witch that's gonna grow warts!" Bo Peep added.

"Yeah, where's your broomstick?" hooted Felix.

"Up your ass!" Rumple growled, seeing Belle's eyes suddenly fill with tears.

"Watch it, cripple! For I make you eat dirt!" threatened the bigger boy.

Rumple backed off knowing he was no match for the stronger boy.

He went and hugged Belle. "Don't . . .don't listen to them!"

"But I'm not a witch!" Belle sniffled. "I'm not old an' ugly with a broomstick!" her head hurt now and she didn't know why she had Seen what she had.

"Coward and witch! Coward and witch!" the four children chanted. Then they linked arms and skipped down the street. "Bye bye, Rumple Reject!" called Felix. "And Bonkers Belle!" singsonged Cora. "Just like your crazy papa!"

Belle brushed Rumple off and murmured, "M'not bonkers! And you're not a coward either!"

Rumple sighed. "But they think I am. Cause my papa is."

"They're idiots!" Belle said angrily, then the two children continued on into the schoolyard, as the teacher was now ringing the bell.

Miss Mack, a young woman of about twenty, had her rolled in a rather severe bun and wore a black dress with rows of buttons down it. She had bright brown eyes and a mobile mouth, though she tried to keep her demeanor serious, Belle could tell that she was not a mean person.

Rumple thought she reminded him of Aunt Lauren, who could look hard as nails, but was actually funny and always had time to tell him a story and play with him before bed. Lauren had made him his Peter Pan doll which he had in his pack.

One by one, Miss Mack called them up to see how well they could count and if they knew their alphabet. Because Belle and Rumple could already read simple sentences and Rumple knew how to count up to twenty-five and even add a few numbers in his head, Miss Mack placed him and Belle in the second form for reading and arithmetic.

In the morning she had the younger students, first through third form, since the older ones were busy helping their parents with their chores and so forth and would come later in the afternoon.

George, Cora, Bo, and Felix could barely count to twelve and only knew some of their alphabet.

The three older children, two boys and girl, in third form, Miss Mack gave a review test to, seeing how well they had learned their lessons last year before Miss Gulch had retired.

"Hey, how come crippled Rumple gets to sit there?" George whined when Miss Mack had Rumple and Belle move to the back behind them in the desks for second form.

"George, we do not refer to anyone by derogatory names!" Miss Mack said sternly. "I will not tolerate name calling in my class! Clear?"

"But he's a—"

Miss Mack frowned. "Yes, Rumplestiltskin has a lame foot, but he was born that way and cannot help it and I will not have a child mocked for an unfortunate accident of birth! Now obey me or you can stand in the corner!"

"Awright!" George muttered, then he thought that he'd get teacher's pet Rumple back later.

Rumple felt a little bit better after hearing that.

Belle squeezed his hand. "See? She's not mean."

"I know."

Belle rubbed her eyes. "Rumple, my head feels funny. And I don't know how I knew Bo Peep was gonna have bugs in her hair. But I did. I wasn't making it up."

"It's cause you're a Seer. Like my Aunt Claude. She can do it too . . .only she uses cards or a bow of water." He looked at his friend in concern. "Maybe you'd better tell Miss Mack if your head hurts."

"No. I'll be okay." Belle said. She didn't want Bo Peep and Cora making fun of her for getting headaches like old Missus Brandywine, an old lady who lived down the street from her house.

She wasn't sure if she liked this new thing she could do . . .Seeing what was going to happen to other people. And now the girls thought she was a witch. _But I'm not a witch! I'm not!_ she thought sadly, then went to write her name ten times on the slate with her chalk.

Rumple bent over his slate, writing his name, and recalling how Aimee had taught him how to do so, by breaking it down into syllables, and writing slowly. It took him a little longer, but soon he had written Rumplestiltskin Spinner on the slate ten times. He knew he should have written FitzMarchand, which was his mother's maiden name and the "fitz" designated a bastard, but Aimee had declared a long time ago that they had adopted Rumple and so he bore their name, Spinner.

"It's really Valcourt, dearie, but the villagers have never called us that," Lauren said one day to him.

Miss Mack was kept busy the rest of the morning schooling the primary class in their A,B,C's and basic numbers and counting with her tally sticks.

Belle wondered why she didn't use an abacus like her papa, and asked her when she came around to check their progress.

"I do when I'm not teaching, Belle," Miss Mack said softly. "But for school, tally sticks are easier to use." And also less expensive, she thought.

By the time lunch rolled around George and Felix were sick of school and wished they could leave. But since they couldn't, they determined to take out their bad tempers on Rumple and Belle—"the teachers pets"—as George had dubbed them.

Belle shared her piece of crumb cake with Rumple at their desk and Rumple gave Belle half of his lemon curd tart in return.

"Aww look!" snickered Felix when Miss Mack was out of the room using the outhouse. "The poor bastards are sharing!"

Rumple went red, both at the insinuation that he was poor and Belle was also a bastard. "Least I know HOW to share!" he retorted. "YOU only share cooties!"

"Shut up, you yellowbellied snot!" Felix growled. "Or I'm gonna make you eat dirt!"

"You're disgusting!" Belle sniffed. "You smell and your hair's all greasy an' I bet you never take a bath!"

"Ewww!" shrieked Cora and Bo Peep.

"Shut up, witch girl! 'Fore I drown you!"

"Yeah, cause that's how you kill a witch!" retorted Bo, smirking nastily.

"I'm not a witch!" Belle cried, alarmed.

"Children, hush and eat your lunch quietly," the teacher ordered as se came back into the room. "Then we can go out for recess."

"Recess! Yay!" all of them cheered.

They all raced outside as soon as lunch was finished.

Rumple and Belle made their way to the castle, intending to hide in it and play with each other, like they did in the little bower Belle's mama had made for them in her garden over at the Avignon house.

But before Rumple could get there, Felix and George cornered him against the side of the play castle and Felix shoved a wad of dirt in his face. "Eat that, ya coward!"

Rumple nearly threw up.

George brayed. "Serves ya right! That's what ya get for havin' a coward for a papa!" Then he grabbed Rumple by the hair. "Now lissen up! If you don't do what we say when we say . . . we're gonna borrow Gaston's tongs and rip out all your fingernails, Rumple!"

"Why? What'd I ever do to you?" Rumple whimpered, spitting out dirt.

"You was born!" Felix snapped.

"An' your teeth so's you can only eat corn mush!" continued George.

"You leave Rumple 'lone!" Belle cried. "Or I'm telling!"

Felix went and shoved Belle up against the castle, banging her head into the wall. "You tell and I'll shove your face in the rain barrel an' drown ya, witch! Got me?"

He looked so cruel and menacing that Belle was suddenly scared to death.

"Now . . .both you babies hush and don't say a word," growled George. "Or else we'll do just like we said . . ."

Then he slammed Rumple's head into the wall, making him yell in pain.

"And we'll take that stick of yours and beat your head in!" he hissed. "So . . . you gonna talk?"

Rumple shook his head mutely, tears in his eyes. His head hurt something dreadful and he was now terrified of George doing what he said. He knew Gaston would happily give the bigger boy tongs since Gaston hated him ever since the blankie incident long ago.

"N-no. I won't say a word! Right, Belle?"

"Yes. We'll be quiet," she agreed, for she was also terrified. She didn't want to get drowned and die.

"Better be!" huffed George. "Now, this is how it's gonna be . . .you give us all your sweets at lunch . . .and do our homework for us so we can play instead of writing all these dumb letters . . ."

"But . . .but then you won't know how to write your name," Belle objected.

"So? Don't need to," said Felix.

"Whatcha doing, boys?" asked Bo Peep.

"We are telling these pee ons what the law is," George answered. "And the law is—whatever I say goes!"

"I wanna help!" Be yelled.

"Me too!" Cora said. Then she grabbed Belle's bow. "Gimme that1 Witches don't need bows—their hair's supposed to look messy!"

Belle screamed. "Oww!"

"Stop it! You're hurting her!" Rumple protested, wishing he could hit them with his stick. But he was too afraid.

"Stop it!" mocked Cora. 'Whyn't you cry about it?"

"Baby . . .baby . . .stick your head in gravy . . ." chanted Bo.

"Yeah because you're so ugly that when you was born . . .the doctor smacked your mother!" Cora jeered.

"Cause who wants a bastard baby?" George brayed.

The others all sneered.

Rumple felt ill.

"He can't help the way he was born!" Belle put in.

"Yes he could! He coulda died!" Cora returned, a nasty look on her face.

The others laughed, then they scattered as Miss Mack called, "What's going on there, children?"

Rumple helped Belle fix her hair because Cora still had her bow. "Your hair still looks nice, Belle."

"No it doesn't," she sniffled, and then she wiped his face with her handkerchief. "Why are they so mean to us, Rumple?"

"I don't know," he said sadly. He felt tears well in his eyes. "They think I shoulda died!"

"Well, _I_ don't!" she said stoutly. "I'm glad you're alive and friends with me."

Rumple smiled. "I'd better get washed up," he said and went inside when the teacher was talking with one of the older girls, Lucy. After he washed his face, he felt somewhat better.

He wished he were home however where he was safe from George and Felix and Bo and Cora. If he told his aunts or his mama what those mean kids ahd said, they'd be in such trouble! But then he recalled George promising to rip out his fingernails and drown Belle.

He couldn't risk ever telling anyone.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and muttered, "Hush little baby, don't say a word . . ."

Then he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and went outside again, but he was so worried about the bullies that he didn't even take Peter Pan out of his satchel to play with him like he had intended, instead huddling with Belle on the swings until Miss Mack rang the bell to come inside.

As George went past Rumple and Belle, he made a snipping motion with his hands and Felix grinned nastily. Cora made a gross face at Belle, now wearing her hair bow and Bo mimed someone drowning.

Both smaller children shivered as their tormentors went by.

_Hush little baby, don't say a word . . ._

**A/N: This was a rather difficult chapter for me to write, as I was bullied just like this when I was child for years by a group of other children my age. What do you think should happen to them?**


	6. Shadowy Protector

**6**

**Shadowy Protector**

The bullies tormenting continued every day, until Belle could hardly stand to wake up in the morning to go to school, for she was always afraid that something mean or humiliating would be done to her before or during recess. Cora was a master at tripping her so it looked like an accident, and she often came home with skinned elbows and knees, leading the other kids to believe she was clumsy and they refused to pick her for games like chase and "run, sheep, run". Bo always managed to spill something on Belle—like ink or paint when they had art lessons, thus reinforcing the perception that she was a fumblefingered child.

It was the same with Rumple, only him they called cripple and made fun of his shyness. Felix always pretended to limp along and George called him "gimp" and made him give them all the nice tarts and pumpkin muffins and cookies Aimee and his aunts baked for him for lunch every day. They also enjoyed rubbing mud on Rumple's clothes and in his hair, and Rumple hated being dirty, and he would grow frantic to wash it off and often make things worse.

Aimee would sigh and scold softly, "You should be more careful, Rumple. You're putting holes in all your clothes . . .though I suppose that's normal for a growing boy."

"Yes, Mama," Rumple muttered, looking at his feet, wanting to cry and tell her everything that George and Felix were doing, but he didn't dare. He didn't want all his fingernails ripped out and he'd seen both boys rip the wings off living butterflies at recess, so he knew they wouldn't care about ripping off his fingernails . . or Belle's either.

He would have liked school except the continuing tormenting was making him sick to his stomach and he could hardly eat breakfast the morning he had to go to school. Concerned, Aimee had Lauren make him up a tonic and it tasted so gross Rumple nearly threw up. The next day he made sure to hide the uneaten food on his plate in his napkin and then throw it into the bushes when he left the cottage to walk to the schoolhouse.

After a week of this treatment, Rumple began to wonder if he'd spend the rest of his schooldays a mass of quivering nerves . . .a coward like his papa.

Belle too was starting at shadows and as they walked to school again, she jumped when the wind blew some leaves across their path. "Sorry, Rumple," she muttered. "I just . . thought I heard them coming."

"I know," he said, looking around warily. "But they make a lot more noise."

"Like hungry monsters," Belle said fearfully. She gripped Rumple's hand because it gave her courage.

"Why didn't your Vision come true yet?" Rumple muttered.

"I . . dunno," Belle said quietly. "Maybe . . .it wasn't real."

"Maybe it takes time," Rumple whispered back comfortingly.

She nodded. If that was the case, she wished it would hurry up.

They had nearly reached the bend in the path to the schoolhouse when George ran up behind Rumple and shoved him to the ground. "Trip much, gimpy?" he laughed harshly.

Rumple yelped as he hit the ground, skinning his knees and his stick went flying.

"Aww! Did the wimy gimp fall down?" drawled Felix, his handsome face curled in a sneer.

"Wimpy Gimpy Rumpy!" chanted Cora and Bo nastily.

"Now give us your sweets . . .before we shove that stick up your ass!" Felix growled.

"I . . .I . . ." Rumple fumbled in his satchel for the bag of muffins Aimee had given him, hoping it wasn't crushed in the fall.

"Hurry up!" ordered George, and kicked Rumple in the ribs.

"Why don't you just leave us alone?" Belle cried. "We didn't do anything to you!"

"Yeah you did!" Cora smirked. "You exist!"

"So do you!" Belle returned spiritedly. "An' what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means—witch freak—that you oughta been drowned at birth like unwanted kittens!" Bo shouted, and yanked Belle's ponytail.

Belle hollered and tried to pull away, but Bo was stronger and she knocked Belle onto the ground. "Gimme your lunch . . .and whatever else you brought today, freak!"

Belle's eyes were filled with tears. "I hope your hair falls out!" she cried, and went to get her lunch sack.

The four bullies were laughing as they took their victims dessert and Felix spit in Rumple's butter and jam sandwich before he threw it at the other boy, saying, "Nice lunch your mama packed, ain't it? Oh, I forgot, you ain't got a mama, 'cause you're a bastard whose mama croaked after she looked at you!"

"That's not true! My mama was sick, that's why she died!" Rumple cried, tears stinging his eyes at the cruel implication. Aunt Lauren had said so . .. and she never lied to him. "My aunt said so!"

"Then she lies, gimp!" Felix sneered and they turned to run off.

When out of the shadows of the woods beside the path came a loud menacing growl.

George froze. "Uh . . what was . . ._that_?"

"I dunno . .. sounded like . . a wild animal!" shivered Felix, still clutching Rumple's muffins.

The growl was repeated, louder this time.

"I think it's coming after us!" wailed Cora, clutching her satchel and Belle's hair ribbon that she'd ripped from her hair.

Two green eyes suddenly appeared in the brush and the sharp deadly snarl drifted out of the shadows.

Suddenly a soft voice spoke, singing almost, yet it's tone was deadly cold and dreadfully scary.

"Stupid children, where are you going?

What are you doing, this fine summer's day?

Wicked children, why do you torment one of your own,

Can you not find another game to play?"

"Ahhh!" screamed Bo Peep. "It's a monster!"

"A monster indeed . . .one that takes wicked children

And skins them and hangs them upon the door.

To make a fine coat to wear in the winter,

Oh such a fine thing, to keep out the snow!"

The children, including Belle and Rumple, were now paralyzed with dread.

"P-Please . . don't hurt us!" bawled George.

"Hurt you? Why not?" asked the voice, sounding like a rather curious child. "You have hurt others, why shouldn't I take you and skin you alive?"

"Noo!" wailed Felix. "We didn't!"

The voice made a tisking noise. "Now, now, don't you lie. Liars get their tongues ripped out before they're skinned, don't you see? So tell the truth, don't lie to me!"

Cora began sniveling. "Okay! We . . . we were mean to the freak and her little gimp friend!"

"Yeah but who cares?" added George.

"Me!" giggled the monster and something swirled in the shadows of the trees and the green eyes glittered and the snarl became more pronounced.

"G-George, shut up! Before it . . . _eats_ us!" Felix whined.

"I want my mama!" Bo burst into tears.

Belle squeezed Rumple's hand and whispered, "Maybe it's a good monster."

Rumple was too scared to say anything and just nodded.

"Naughty girl, now you cry? Before you didn't give a fig! Stick a finger in your eye!" the shadow went on. "Do you think that I don't know . . .what you did . . .now you shall reap what you sow . . ."

"No! Please! We'll give you anything!" wailed George, now terrified to the marrow of his bones. "Just don't skin me!"

The shadow snorted. "Not so brave, are you now, when something stronger has got you down? Little brat, promise me . . .never to touch these two again . . .then we'll see . . .I might not come and skin you . . ."

The four started yammering and bleating like young shoats in front of the slaughterhouse, pleading for mercy. They shoved their ill-gotten gains back at their victims desperately.

"Oh, mercy, mercy, mercy me!" singsonged the voice, still with icy cold disdain. "If ever I see you four again attack these two just because you can . . . look out your windows and look out your doors, for the shadows that gather and creep on all fours, as dusk falls so shall you, if you break your word to me . . .skinned shall you be and hung upon the door . . so all may know what happens to . . ._wicked little children!_"

On that last pronouncement, the voice scaled into a high-pitched vicious giggle, accompanied by a low howl.

George, Cora, Felix, and Bo ran screeching away, running home to hide in their closets and under the bed from the evil shadow monster.

Belle went to help Rumple up, going to fetch his walking stick, which was lying in the middle of the path, when the eyes suddenly resolved themselves into a large wolf-like animal, black as a moonless night, who came and sat down before them.

The little girl froze. "You . . . _you're_ the . . shadow monster?" she gulped, her hand wrapped around Rumple's stick.

"No, that would be me," answered the voice and the shadows swirled and rippled and flickered into a medium-sized man dressed all in gray, boots, pants, tunic, and an odd shimmering shadowy cloak. He looked to be around thirty or so, with slightly curling hair of a nearly black hue and a face of high cheekbones and sharp edges.

He was slightly smaller than average, lithe like a hunting cat, with the same restless energy, and his skin was pale as parchment. His only truly arresting feature were his eyes, they were a deep purple hue, like dusk transplanted into human form. He came and laid a hand upon the wolf-like creature, whose head came up to his chest.

"This is Nyx, you would call her a hybrid, she is part dog and part dread wolf. She won't harm you . . . unless you threaten me." The stranger chuckled.

He picked up the stick and came towards Rumple. "Come up from there, lad." He handed the stick to Rumple with his right hand.

Rumple scrambled to his feet, staring up at the man in awe. "You . . .saved us. You're not a monster, like they thought."

One side of the man's mouth quirked in amusement. "The shadows hide many things, lad. Friend and foe sometimes. I am just a man now . . though once . . once I was a bit more. Be that as it may, I was glad to help."

"Why?" Rumple asked suspiciously.

"Because I have been where you are now, long and long ago," the other replied easily. "And I have never tolerated bullies. In any shape or form."

Belle looked him up and down. "I don't remember you. Have you always been here?"

"No. I am recently arrived. I have retired from my previous line of work and come here to get some peace and quiet. I live in the cottage with the smoky purple trim near the schoolhouse. I was out for a little walk when I heard those wicked bullies tormenting you."

"Thanks for your help, sir," said Belle politely. "Umm . . what's your name?"

The man paused before he answered, almost as if he was unsure of his answer. Then he said quietly, "The name my mother gave me is Bey. Bey Starfall. But you can call me Bey."

"I'm Belle. Belle Avignon." She held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"And I'm Rumplestiltskin Spinner," Rumple said cautiously. "But you can just call me Rumple."

He shook both children's hands. "Well met."

"Would you really have skinned them?" Rumple blurted.

Bey chuckled, low and deep. "'Tis what they think . . . and sometimes, lad, a little misinformation can save you a great deal of pain and heartache."

They began to walk with their shadowy protector down the path to the schoolhouse.

"I just don't know why they're always picking on us," Belle said mournfully. "I can't help if I was born with the Sight."

"And I can't help my leg," Rumple said.

Bey paused, then said, "Children can be intolerant vicious brats. And it's easy for them to look at you and see someone different and label you as someone that's beneath them. It's a trait that breeds with ignorance and continues because people don't stamp it out when they can."

They had almost reached the schoolhouse and Miss Mack was about to ring the bell, when Bey said, "Now go, you two and don't worry about those other four."

"But . .. what if they decided to get someone else to hurt us?" Rumple whimpered, still thinking of Gaston and his tongs.

"Hmm . . .you're right. Tell you what. Come over to my house for tea, you two, and we'll talk about me helping you to defend yourself against those who will hurt you."

"Really? When?" asked Belle excitedly.

"After school."

The bell began ringing.

Bey stood back and watched as Rumple and Belle trotted into the schoolyard, then he swirled his cloak about him and vanished from view.

Seconds later, he and Nyx were trotting through the trees back to their new home.

As he put the kettle on for tea, figuring a cup would be just right to soothe the ache in his left arm, he looked down at the wolf-dog beside his chair. "Well, Nyx, now I know I've truly retired. I haven't gone by Bey since I was ten years old and learned how to walk in shadow and silence."

Nyx wagged her tail, understanding.

The man now known as Bey rubbed his left arm, partially paralyzed as a result of being poisoned over a year ago. It was that as much as the death of his former monarch and the succession of a new one that had led to his decision to leave the life he had once led and cross two kingdoms to come here, to this hamlet within the Enchanted Forest. His long lean fingers traced the tattoo he bore on his left wrist, hidden by his sleeve.

It was of a dagger, curled around his wrist. The symbol of his old order. _I shall be a dagger pointed at the heart of your enemies, for as long as you shall live._ His mind spun back to the pledge he had made over twenty years ago to a young king. That king was now in his grave, dead of a sudden lung ailment, though some said his heart had followed his wife years before when she had died bearing him a son and heir. But his monarch's death had freed Bey from his obligation at last.

His opposite hand circled his wrist and the violet eyes darkened. The dagger was the symbol of what he had been, and his last name was an indication of his being born a royal bastard. Where he had come from, such a status was not scorned, rather the legitimate blood royals used their illegitimate kin, making them bound to the throne by teaching them a trade—the art of silence and shadow, the way of the dagger, making them into assassins who protected their monarch and thus were never able to revolt against him. Five Daggers had been in service when Bey had left . . . five royal bastards like him, cousins and half-siblings, for the Highstar line had always been prolific lovers. They would have to choose a new one to take his place.

Only he had been the best of them all. The legend from whom all Daggers were told to aspire to, his name whispered in fear into the dark, to scare little boys and girls into good behavior, and miscreants into thinking twice about attacking his monarch. A grim smile twisted his lips as the kettle began to whistle.

As he poured the boiling water over the tea leaves he reflected that at least no one from his past would ever think of searching for him here, for who would suspect the notorious mage assassin once known as the Dark One to be here in Hearthstone?

**A/N: so what did you think of Bey Starfall and Nyx? **


	7. It's A Kind of Magic

**7**

**It's A Kind of Magic**

Belle and Rumple were so excited about meeting Bey again at his house that they could barely sit still and concentrate on their schoolwork. Miss Mack scolded Rumple for doodling on his slate instead of doing his addition, and she had to call Belle twice to answer a history question because she was mooning and staring out the window—in the direction of the shadowy protector's house.

Both children were glad when recess came, and wonder of wonders, they were left alone for once by their tormentors. The two went and played in the small castle, and Bo, Cora, Felix, and George huddled at the other end of the playground, whispering fearfully.

Belle smiled at Rumple as they sat in the castle, with Belle showing Rumple the new book Maurice had bought for her, about a clever girl who went on adventures with her magic horse, who could run on water and air. "I'm glad Bey put the fear of the gods of night into those nasty bullies! Now we can read our book in peace!"

Rumple nodded, a shy smile lighting his small face. "Yeah, and we can play with Peter Pan and Bambi without worryin' they're gonna be stolen and broken." He removed his little cornhusk doll and his carved wooden deer that Aimee had made him from a small rowan knot and he handed the eer to Belle. "Once upon a time, Peter and Bambi were walkin' through the forest . . ."

" . . .an' they ran into the big nasty hunter Gaston . . .who shot everything that moved and poached on the king's land . . ." Belle continued. She detested Gaston and never cared that he was the villain in all their made up stories. He was a villain in real life anyhow.

After they had finished school, Rumple and Belle found Nyx waiting for them upon the path, and they followed the huge wolf-dog back to Bey's cottage, which was, as he had said, quite close to the schoolhouse, though set back some from the main road.

Bey's cottage was like most in the village, with a thatched roof and whitewashed walls, though his had ivy clinging to the walls and a purple door and shutters. A large maple tree overlooked the yard and a fence with some odd markings burned into the posts surrounded his house, but the gate was opened in welcome.

Nyx trotted up the walk and scratched at the door of the cottage.

Rumple and Belle followed, and Belle noticed more of the odd carvings around the door. "I wonder what those are?"

Rumple shrugged. "Dunno. They look like symbols of some sort."

Before they could ponder any more, the door was opened by Bey himself, and he smiled at the two children and said, "Welcome to my humble home. Come in and have some tea."

Rumple and Belle went eagerly into the cottage, following Nyx and Bey.

The cottage was composed of four rooms, a large room of a combination of a kitchen and hearthroom, Bey's bedroom, a small bathroom, and an extra room that Bey used as a workroom and library. Neither child knew it, but Bey was also a sorcerer in his realm, though his magic was different from the kind that they were familiar with. Besides being an assassin, Bey had been taught the magic of wards, glyphs, and potions.

"Sit down," Bey invited them, and gestured to the table, where he had set out his tea service and a plate with some buttery raisin scones. The tea service was one the queen had given him before he left the realm to fade into anonymity. It was a beautiful white porcelain service with the blue willow symbol for health, prosperity, and long life on it. It was also gilded as befit a royal tea service, on the rims of the cups and pot and the handles and the plates.

"Ooh, what a lovely tea set!" Belle exclaimed upon seeing it.

"Why thank you!" Bey laughed, amused and touched by her enthusiasm. "It was a gift from an old friend before I retired and came here."

Rumple thought the tea set was fine also, and then he asked, "Were you a soldier?"

"Umm . . .in a manner of speaking," Bey hedged, not wanting to reveal what he had really been to the impressionable children. "I was my king's bodyguard for many many years." Which was true, in a sense. He had been ordered many times to guard his monarch, who was also his father, and protect him from his enemies.

"That where you learned how to defend yourself?" was Rumple's next question.

"Yes," Bey answered honestly. "As a boy, I was bullied much like you . . .but after months of training, I became able to send those who hurt me fleeing from me like a bunch of yellow-bellied curs with their tails between their legs."

His instruction by the former Dark One had enabled him to show those who had tormented him the error of their ways, when he broke one boy's thumb who attacked him, and kicked the other's balls into his throat.

He eyed Rumple, thinking the boy reminded him a great deal of himself as a child—quiet, alert, and curious.

Belle reminded him of his half-sister, Princess Islena, who was also courageous, smart, and curious.

"But how can you teach me?" Rumple asked, puzzled. "With my lame foot and all?"

Bey's eyes twinkled. "Well, even a lame foot can be turned into an asset if you know how."

"Will you teach me too?" Belle begged.

"Yes, if you wish," Bey replied.

"Do . .. do girls fight too where you're from?"

"Yes. A lot of women do," he answered, for it was true. The queen's bodyguards were all women and several of his girl cousins were Daggers.

"Not here," Belle murmured. "It's only boys who go off to war an' have adventures. The girls stay home an' get married or sometimes they go to university."

"Like my mama and aunts," Rumple clarified. "They ain't married 'cause their beaus left 'em after their papa lost all his money. But my mama says that was all right, 'cause if they couldn't stay the course they weren't worth anything."

Bey was horrified. "Your mother's beau got her in the family way and left her?"

"Yeah. My papa's a no good scoundrel," Rumple reported. "He tried once t'take me away, but Mama beat his backside with her paddle and he got 'scripted into the duke's army, but he ran off from that too and is a deserting coward now. And that's why Felix an' George beat me up so much. They say I'm a coward like he is—but I'm not!" They boy's eyes glistened with angry tears.

"Of course you're not," Bey said soothingly. _Dearest gods, another bastard like me. And that would have been me, if my royal father hadn't acknowledged me and taken me to live up at the palace and had me trained as the Dark One._ A wash of sympathy flowed over the old assassin. "I knew you weren't a coward, Rumple, when I saw you stay and not run off when those bullies assaulted you."

"I've always known that," Belle said stoutly. "Only idiots like those four think so. Cora and Bo don't like me either, cause my papa Maurice is an inventor and smarter than their papas and my mama used to be a fine lady once and she's smarter and nicer than their mamas."

"Cora's mama goes round with her nose in the air like a goose!" Rumple sneered. "And Bo's mama has this pinched look on her face like somethin' smells bad." He imitated Bo's mother, Anna, and sniffed and scrunched up his face like he smelled something disgusting.

Belle and Bey started laughing.

_The boy's a natural mimic, like me,_ Bey thought. It was funny, but Rumple reminded him so much of himself, he could have been his son. Though Bey knew that was impossible. None of the Daggers could sire children due to a spell put upon them by the previous Dark One, that made them infertile. But perhaps, now that his oaths were dead along with his king, that had also faded? He mused. As the Dark One his job had been to guard his monarch and to eliminate any and all threats to his well being and the royal family. Like a good guard dog, he thought sarcastically. And one didn't need distractions in his line of work.

But now he was no longer obligated to be the dagger in the dark, he reminded himself, and he smiled at the two children, and said, "The two of you are worth three of all those other brats. And I can teach you some maneuvers I learned when I was somewhat older than you that will make them keep their distance. It doesn't matter about your foot, Rumple. One of the best . .. err . . .warriors I ever knew was a blind man."

Bey wasn't lying. Graham Hunter had been blind from birth but he hadn't let that stop him. He was one of the best shadow fighters in the realms, his senses honed to a preternatural sharpness and unless you looked, you'd never even know he was blind. He had been Bey's first tutor in the art of silence and shadow.

"Really?" Rumple looked hopeful.

"Yes," Bey assured him. "Right, Nyx?"

The wolf-dog whuffed an agreement, her green eyes shining.

"Does she understand what you say?" asked Belle.

"She does, lass. Nyx is very intelligent." He caressed the wolf-dog's head. "Dread wolves are uncannily smart in my land, and she's inherited their intelligence and cunning and strength."

Belle reached down to pet her and Nyx licked her hand.

Then Rumple recalled another question. "Bey, what's those funny markings on your door?"

"Those? They're . . ahh . . ." he hesitated, not sure whether to reveal his magic to them. Then he shrugged and remembered intrigue was no longer a part of his life and it was just a question. " . . .they're a kind of ward magic, Rumple. Do you know what a glyph is?"

He shook his head.

"Well, in my land, a glyph is a symbol that when drawn properly, gives someone or something magical properties for a time," Bey explained. "We have a whole other alphabet of runes, called glyphs, and if you know the right combinations and have the will and the focus, you can use magic."

He illustrated by drawing the glyph for animate an object in the air. It was a half circle with an oddly shaped backwards R and it left smoky purple trails in the air.

"Oooh!" the two gasped.

Then it vanished as the tea pot animated itself and poured tea into all their cups again.

"See? That was the glyph for animating an object there," Bey explained. "If you know the right combination you can cast many spells."

"So you're a sorcerer _and_ a warrior?" Rumple asked, awed. His brown eyes were huge in his little face.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking," the Dark One coughed, tracing the dagger tattoo beneath his sleeve.

"Brilliant!" Belle exclaimed. "Rumple's aunts and mama are enchantresses."

"Yeah, but they can't do that sort of magic," Rumple said. "But Aunt Claude's got the Sight, like Belle, an' my mama and Aunt Lauren are good with herbs n' kitchen witchery and enchanting objects."

The little boy had a funny feeling that Bey was probably a more powerful sorcerer than they knew here in Hearthstone.

"All magic is useful," Bey said quietly. "Whether a glyph or another kind. And all magic comes with a price as well. Though usually the price is the caster's to pay." His mouth quirked as he found himself quoting his former mistress in the magical arts—the Dragon.

She had been a glyphmistress before she had passed on, and he had been her best student, and the glyphmaster after her. Now that he was gone, he wondered which of his students had taken his place. Most likely it had been either Regina or Aurora, he considered, as both of them had major talent in that area.

"Can anyone learn this glyph magic?" Belle asked.

"You two are full of questions, aren't you?" Bey chuckled.

"M'sorry," Belle apologized. "Papa always says I ask questions and chatter like a magpie."

"I don't mind. That's how you learn," the former assassin said softly. "And yes, anyone with the will, focus, and aptitude for magic can learn how to use the glyphs. But it does take time, because you need to learn an entire alphabet of symbols and how they work."

"Like months?" Rumple wanted to know.

"Years, lad," Bey corrected. "It took me years to master the glyphs and become what I am with them—a glyphmaster."

"Could you . . .maybe teach us . . .?" Belle pleaded.

"I can, but you have to promise me something first," he stressed. "Never use what I show you unless it's absolutely necessary. And try to never use the glyphs unless I am with you. Magic's price can be deadly to an apprentice, and a half-trained glyph worker deadliest of all, both to yourself and others."

"Why?" Belle queried.

"Because, little maid, a half-trained magic worker always assumes he or she knows more than they actually do . . . and can end up harming people unintentionally." He glanced at the clock on the wall and wondered if he had time for a quick cautionary tale.

But Nyx barked urgently, and Bey said, "Perhaps when you visit tomorrow afternoon, I can tell you the tale of a boy name Nicholas and the Firebird, but Nyx reminds me you ought to be getting home, your parents will be missing you. Come, let me walk with you."

He rose and followed the children and Nyx from the cottage.

They stopped off at Belle's house first, where they found Maurice pacing the front yard and glancing at his pocket watch. "Belle! What happened? Did you have to stay after school?"

"No, Papa. I'm sorry I was late but I was having tea with Master Starfall here," Belle ran up and hugged him.

Maurice looked up to see an unfamiliar man dressed all in gray with a huge black wolf and Rumple beside him. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed.

"Forgive me, Master Avignon, for making you worry," Bey began. "My name is Bey Starfall, and I've just retired here from the kingdom of Avaria far to the west by the Sea of Fallen Stars."

It was how the monarchs of his kingdom got their name—Highstar, for they were the highest in the land.

"Papa, he was a bodyguard and he knows magic too!" Belle told Maurice excitedly.

"An' he's gonna teach me how to protect myself so's nobody beats me up anymore," Rumple interjected.

"Is that so?" Maurice looked interested. Then he blinked and said, "Some boys were giving you a hard time, Rumple? Your mama and aunts won't like that."

"I was my king's bodyguard until his death," Bey said softly. "Then I retired and came here. I happened to be walking with my wolf-dog Nyx when I came upon Rumple and Belle being bullied by four other children . . .and I put a stop to it." The man's eyes flashed angrily.

"Yeah, he scared them so bad they almost wet themselves!" Rumple crowed.

"Good for you! I probably know who some of them are . . .and they get their nasty ways from their parents, who are not nice people themselves." Maurice said. "Thank you for bringing my daughter home, Master Fallstar."

"It was no trouble, and please, call me Bey," he said. "If you wouldn't mind, I can teach Belle as well as Rumple, for in my land, a girl is taught much the same as a boy."

"Even the magic you mentioned?"

"Well, I'm not a Seer, but I do know a certain kind of magic," Bey explained. "And I would teach them both, but nothing truly dangerous, and I do have certain conditions for all my apprentices." He detailed them for Maurice.

"I . . well . . . I'll need to think about it. Talk to my wife," Maurice said.

"Please, Papa!"

"Belle, we'll see what your mother thinks," Maurice demurred.

"There's no rush," Bey said, not wanting them to forbid Belle to learn magic. "Take your time and think about it."

"I shall and thank you again," Maurice said.

"Bye, Rumple! I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Bye, Belle!" Rumple waved at her cheerily, and then he limped on down the road with Bey and Nyx.

Bey noted how the boy moved with his stick, despite his infirmity. "Rumple, were you born like that . . .or did you have an accident that caused your foot to become lame?"

"Nope, I was born with my foot all twisted an' smaller than my other one," the boy answered.

"Have you ever tried . . .umm . . .a corrective brace or something?"

"Once, when I was little, but Mama said it was doin' more harm than good an' it hurt me to even walk, so she took it off and threw it away."

"How about a shoe with certain . . .ah . . . type of sole built into it?" he suggested.

"No . . . our shoemaker doesn't make that sort of thing," Rumple told him, resting a hand on Nyx's ruff.

"Hmm . . ." Bey thought, recalling the Highstar castle's shoemaker, a bright-cheeked elf named Silk, who could make any kind of footwear and made shoes for the court ladies, the royal family, even the knights needed special war boots and the foot soldiers marching shoes with hobnailed soles. He was sure that if given the proper measurements, Silk would be able to design a shoe for Rumple which might help him walk easier.

_You'd be paying a pretty penny for that, Starfall. Silk doesn't come cheap,_ he reminded himself. _All this for a boy you just met? _

He irritably told the cynical voice in his head to hush. _And what else have I got to spend my money on?_ As the Dark One he has sometimes accepted commissions from other nobles if he thought their cause worthy, though he charged highly for his services, after all one did not command the best assassin in the realms for nothing. And he always got his mark . . .no matter how long it took. There was a saying in Avaria—_when the Dark One marks you for death, you may as well start sewing your funeral shroud, because death will come for you as sure as night falls._

He had built his reputation upon that legend, as well as the one that declared _The Dark One and Death are brothers, and Death's hand touches him not._

Of course that was a bit of a fallacy, for even the Dark One was not immortal, though they did live a very long time and when one was killed or too old to perform his or her duties, they retired and passed the mantle on to their successor. Bey rubbed his arm absently as Rumple led him up the walk to his home.

The little boy threw open the door and cried, "Mama, I'm home!"

"There you are, Rumple!" said Aimee, coming out of the kitchen wearing an apron dusted with flour, a smudge of flour on her nose, her curly hair straggling loose from its bun. "Were you over at Belle's having a snack?"

"No, I was over at Bey's . . .err . . .this is Bey Starfall, Mama," her son replied, and gestured to the man standing like a shadow behind him.

Aimee flushed as she realized they had a visitor . . .and a male one at that. "Oh! Rumple, you could have warned me! I look a fright!" She dusted her hands upon her apron. "I'm so sorry, I was baking cinnamon raisin bread and potato pancakes. I'm Aimee Spinner, my sisters and I run the shop next door."

Bey bowed and then gestured, and a purple rose appeared in his hand. "The pleasure is all mine, milady."

Aimee's eyes widened. "Thank you kindly, sir," she took the rose and floated it into a small terracotta pitcher on the kitchen table. "You're new to Hearthstone, aren't you?"

"I am. I've just moved here, into the house with the purple trim next to the school." He didn't know what had possessed him to conjure a purple majestic rose like that, except something of his lessons in court etiquette must have still affected him.

"That's old Esmerelda's place. She was a Gypsy fortune teller. But she caught a bad lung fever a while back and passed away in her sleep." Aimee said, eyeing the stranger up and down.

There was something about the lean man in gray that drew her eye, something undefinable as mist off the moor, mysterious and wild, she sensed there was something more than what he appeared, there was a wild animal grace about him, and an air of danger as well.

Then she caught sight of Nyx and murmured, "Is she your familiar, Master Starfall?"

Bey's violet eyes met her bright hazel ones and he found himself quite unable to look away. If he didn't know better he'd have said she was trying to bewitch him, but he knew his dagger tattoo protected him from such enchantments. "Nyx is my good friend. We've been together a long time, Missus Spinner."

"Part dread wolf, aye?" asked Aimee shrewdly. She had read of the magical wolves in one of her volumes of magical creatures.

"She is," Bey nodded. He wanted to wipe the smudge of flour off her nose, and nearly reached out with his hand to do so before he reminded himself sharply that a man did not touch a lady without her permission. His bad arm twinged and he absently went to rub it. He explained about helping Rumple and Belle from bullies, and Aimee frowned and said, "Rumple, why didn't you tell me about them? And why aren't you wearing your bracelet?"

"Umm . . .I forgot to put it on," he said softly, but the truth was he'd been made fun of by Felix for wearing jewelry "like girl" and so he'd left the bracelet at home on his washstand.

"Dearie, you shouldn't ever go without it," Aimee said quietly, and she summoned it and handed it to him. "It protects you from your wastrel papa, among other things."

Rumple put it on. "'Kay, Mama."

Bey eyed the bracelet, sensing some kind of protective charm on it. "Your son told me that your . . .beau left you," he said awkwardly. "Such a man ought to be horsewhipped for treating you that way."

"Aye, Malcolm could have used such," Aimee chuckled, then she realized what Bey was implying and cried, "Why, dearie, surely you don't think . . . Malcolm was _my_ beau!"

"Err . . .the lad's your son, right?" Bey found himself flushing.

"Yes, but . . . oh goodness, you mean Rumple never told you he's adopted?" Aimee said. "He's my son, but I never bore him. That was Juliette Marchand, the poor thing! Malcolm tricked her and got her in the family way, and she died soon after she had Rumple. He was a foundling I and my sisters took in because her father had disowned her and her child. We adopted him soon afterwards."

"Oh! So then he . . .never . . ." Bey coughed awkwardly. "Forgive me, Mistress, I merely thought . . ." _You've really put your foot in it this time, haven't you? Just like some idiot sixteen year old repeating rumors! _He hadn't felt like such a dunce since he really was sixteen. "I didn't mean to imply that you . . .ah . . . were . . .umm . . ." he stammered like a fool.

_Now you sound like a blithering idiot! You, the most powerful mage assassin in the realms! _The cynical part of him scolded witheringly.

But Aimee just gave him a considerate smile. "You couldn't have known, Master Starfall. Rumple's become used to everyone knowing about him, so he wouldn't have thought to tell you otherwise. And as far as we're concerned, Rumple is _our_ son, no matter who bore him."

Her words made the master assassin smile. "Then he's lucky to have you, Mistress. Others . . .would not be so kind." He rubbed his arm again.

Aimee, who herself had been rather flustered at first, found herself following the stranger's movements, and she noticed his arm hanging awkwardly by his side. "Your arm, Master Starfall, have you hurt it?"

"This? It's an old injury, mistress. Several months old."

"May I?" Aimee asked. "I know something of wounds." Before he could refuse, she took his left arm and gently felt it. Her slender fingers found an odd little knot on his bicep. "You . . .were stabbed, weren't you," she said knowingly.

"I was. By a poisoned blade," he agreed. "The poison . . . was not one I was able to counter effectively, and it partially paralyzed my arm. The healers said I would never regain the full use of it, and so I had to retire."

"You mean . . . you're like me?" Rumple asked, amazement coloring his tone.

"Lame? I am, youngling," Bey said.

"But perhaps I can help you a bit," Aimee said. "I have a salve here that when rubbed on can ease those cramps you have in the muscles that still feel something." She went into the stillroom and fetched a small brown pot.

"Here, Master Starfall," as she handed him the pot, their fingers met and a spark jumped from one to the other.

Bey nearly dropped the pot, but at the last minute he clung to it hard. "How much do I owe you?"

Aimme bit her lip, wanting to say her help was free, but she sensed the man might be insulted.

Before she could say anything, Rumple spoke up. "Mama, I already made a deal with him."

"What kind of deal, son?" she asked.

"Master Starfall—he said I can call him Bey—said he can teach me how to defend myself from those meanies and . . .and he can teach me magic too, the kind he does, with glyphs."

"You did?" Aimee demanded.

"I thought it couldn't hurt if I gave the boy a few lessons," Bey objected. "I know what it's like to be bullied, and even though he's lame it doesn't mean he can't be taught to fight back. I know several ways in which he can make even his lame leg more of an asset than a liability."

"And what kind of magic do you know?" she asked softly, her eyes narrowed. There was no taint of darkness on him . . .and yet . . .her sense were warning her that here was a dangerous man.

"I'm a glyphmaster," he answered, and traced a ward symbol in the air. It glowed with his signature purple aura.

"That's a protective ward," Aimee said, recognizing some of the components from her studies.

"You know the glyphs then?"

"I know _of_ them. I've studied some of the runic magic of the Northern lands," Aimee told him.

"Their magical symbology is not quite the same," Bey said. "Ours is much more complex. More symbols, more ways of combining them and more power can be conjured."

Aimee nodded. She had heard that the glyphmasters of Avaria were among the most powerful sorcerers in the realms. Certainly more powerful than mere charms enchantress like herself.

Rumple tugged on her apron. "Mama, may I learn magic from Bey?"

Aimee looked down at her son, whose chocolate brown eyes looked up at her with such innocent hope. Her heart promptly melted and she couldn't bear to say no. "All right. You may learn—_if_ you agree to follow Master Starfall's rules, Rumplestiltskin. He is your master, and you must obey him like you do me."

"Deal, Mama!" He shook her hand to seal the contract.

Aimee ruffled his floofy hair. "And you know that—"

"—no one breaks deals with you, dearie," he recited.

Bey smirked. "You've taught the boy well." Then he slanted an eyebrow and said, "How about we strike a deal of our own, Mistress Spinner? In exchange for this salve whenever I need it, I'll agree to train Rumple in the ways of self-defense and some of my own glyph mastery. Do we have a deal?"

She held out a hand. "We do, Master Starfall." She shook his hand firmly. Then she held out a piece of parchment with the terms of the contract written out. She summoned a quill from her desk and signed her name to the bottom. Then she handed the quill to Bey.

As he signed his name with a flourish, his wayward mind insisted on admiring how her hair fell fetchingly over her forehead. He shook his head irritably, cursing himself for a fool. No decent woman would want him, tainted as he was by his dark profession, a lame arm, and his cynical bent. Plus he was nothing special to look at. His legitimate half-brothers had gotten all the looks in the family.

_Did she know what you were, she'd not give you the time of day!_ His conscience reproved. He handed the quill back to her. "Is two hours after school sufficient?" he asked softly. "He can come home and do his school work first before he has lessons with me."

"That would be fine," Aimee said, and she gave him a sweet smile. "You are most kind, Master Starfall."

"Me? No . . .it's just that I cannot stand bullies, nor see talent go to waste," he answered with a shrug of one shoulder. _You're going soft already, you fool!_ "I'll see you promptly at . . .three-thirty, Rumple. And you can tell Belle also." He hefted the container of salve and then said, "I . . .must be going now. Thank you for this."

"You're very welcome, dearie," she responded, wishing her heart didn't speed up whenever she looked at his slender high-cheekboned face. He was not the kind of handsome prince most girls dreamed of, being small and dark rather than fair and blond, yet she found there was something irresistible about him.

She gazed after him as he strode out of the cottage, then she shook her head. She was such a woolhead! Mooning after a man she had barely met, who wouldn't ever be interested in a single woman—an old maid spinster with a son, who made simples and charms, and spun and baked for a living. He would find her the most boring woman in the realms, compared to the sophisticated women he must have known back in Avaria.

She turned to her son. "Rumple, you can have some cinnamon raisin bread before you start your schoolwork."

Rumple cheered then limped into the kitchen to get some with butter, saying, "Mama, isn't Bey nice?"

"Yes," she replied absently thinking how ironic that she was interested in a man whose name was a spice. _You're hopeless, Aimee Spinner! Just hopeless!_

As Rumple buttered a slice of warm bread, inhaling the odor of cinnamon like ambrosia into his nostrils, he hoped that Elena would let Belle come and learn along with him. _Please, please,_ he prayed to the good gods and spirits. He also wondered when Belle's Visions about Bo and the boys were going to come true. He didn't doubt for an instant that they would, it was only a matter of when. Like his Aunt Claudette said, the Sight worked in its own good time, and only when it was time would Visions come to pass.


End file.
